Game of Princes: Kings and Griffins
by Morninglight
Summary: The companion to 'Queens and Hounds'. Daveth, Jory and Morrigan are travelling throughout Ferelden to gather the treaties owed to the Grey Wardens. Forced to work with a renegade Crow with his own plans, they will face the greatest test of the Grey's political neutrality in Orzammar as Warden-Commander Brytta Brosca and her second Trian Aeducan try to keep the city from exploding.
1. Chapter 1

Note: BioWare owns Dragon Age and all associated properties, etc. This is the companion book to _Queens and Hounds_; it's happening simultaneously but is in its own storyline so I don't get confused. I would advise reading both before the narrative is combined again after the Landsmeet. Mature rating for language, violence, adult themes and situations; Wardens aren't a lot of sweetness and light and the Orzammar/Frostback garrison deals with a lot of crap.

As mentioned in _The Taken Heirs_, Brytta Brosca comes from the _Diamondverse_ stories, but her history is somewhat different here (she was conscripted ten years earlier) and she is not a main protagonist. I'm also altering the Orzammar storyline massively to make it even _more_ screwed up… :P

And yes, Rennio is an arsehole. And my Morrigan is more pragmatic and amoral instead of downright Stupid Evil, so she will see the use in having as many mages between her and the archdemon as possible.

…

**Chapter 1**

The North Road, 29th Cassus 9:30

It was good to be in proper armour again and away from the irritant of Anora and friends – even if he had to journey in the company of the last Grey Wardens on Thedas he would have chosen to combat the Blight with. Despite Daveth swearing up hill and down dale he was still the same pickpocket and thief who'd been recruited by Duncan, Rennio knew that the stern, unyielding half-Rivaini had left his mark deep in the marsh man. _If_ Daveth survived the Blight, one day he would wear the golden griffin crest of the First Warden. The dead Warden-Commander might have been a mixed-breed mongrel of a man, but he'd always recruited well.

Rennio didn't bother looking back at the receding walls of Denerim. He'd done everything in his power to ensure his plans would go as they should, even if some of the pieces had done unexpected things. The one regret he did have was that he hadn't found a way to eliminate Marjolaine before he left. His daughter would have a lot to contend with.

Mara should have eliminated Anora before heading to Ostagar if she were truly going to be undertaking a Valentina gambit. Rennio knew very well that Anora, like Cailan, was sterile – but _she_ didn't know that and neither did the Court. And there would be those who would welcome a xenophobic idiot of a Queen…

He wished, for the umpteenth time, that he'd taken some time at Ostagar to see what manner of woman Mara had become. Everyone else was pathetically easy to decipher, even that self-righteous twit of a bastard templar prince who'd popped out of nowhere (though Rennio was mildly surprised he'd found the spine to leave the Chantry). But Mara's cold blue eyes and Tranquil face had become strange to him as she'd grown up so far away.

Bryce Cousland was proving to be sturdier than Rennio had anticipated; any other man would have succumbed to the poison used – like Rendon Howe had – within the first day. Perhaps Oren's… intervention… had saved him? But he should be dead by now instead of lingering in a coma…

For his future plans, he'd need to rely on Mara's offspring. At least she was fertile, thank the Maker! And if Oren should prove both adept and ambitious, having someone in the Circle of Magi could only be useful… Once his Harrowing was complete, Rennio would have the boy dispatched to Antiva and the Crows there. Tame mages were always useful.

"How long until we reach a stable?" Rennio finally asked. Surely they weren't going to walk all the way across Ferelden.

"Horses are hard to come by down here," Ser Jory replied. "Maker willing, we'll find a caravan that will let us travel with them on a wagon in return for protection."

"That won't happen until we hit the Imperial Highway," Daveth added knowingly. "Probably not until after we do the Tower of Magi first."

Rennio swore foully. "What kind of barbarian shithole doesn't have horses?"

If not for the need for more Wardens to take the deathblow, Daveth's smirk would have seen him dead on the spot as he replied, "The one you're probably going to die in, d'Antiva."

Rennio cursed again. It was going to be a long journey…

…

Royal Palace, Diamond Quarter, Orzammar, 30th Cassus

"Endrin, you nug-fucker. You couldn't even wait until after the sodding Blight."

Some Noble Caste gasped in horror at the casual way Brytta Brosca blasphemed against a man now amongst the Ancestors but the Duster didn't give a shit. The King of Orzammar had died at the worst fucking time and with her order decimated at Ostagar and the topsiders indulging in a civil war, it would fall to her to deal with the archdemon.

"If I didn't agree with you, I'd have to take your head for that," Trian Aeducan, Warden-Second of Orzammar, said as he leant over to close his father's eyes.

"Don't you mean _try_?" Brytta reminded him with a ghost of her usual humour. But the jesting tone fell flat as she looked at the corpse on the wide stone bed… and then the pallid face of Lord Pyral Harrowmount, the only man to see Endrin die. The old geezer had summoned Trian here as the eldest of House Aeducan to prepare Endrin's body for interment; Brytta, as Warden-Commander, had invited herself along… _Much_ to Harrowmount's displeasure.

Warden-Commander or not, she would always be casteless to him – even if her sister Rica had popped out a boy who was the dead ringer of Bhelen Aeducan and been promoted to chief concubine (make that _only_ concubine, but nobles were stuffy on shit like that).

"So… who's in charge now?" Brytta asked bluntly. "I'm going to assume Bhelen."

Something flickered in Harrowmount's eyes before he shook his head. "No… not Bhelen. Endrin was emphatic on that."

"Well, it _can't_ be Sereda after that little plot of hers ten years ago," Trian pointed out. He'd become a Grey Warden because of the last time Sereda Aeducan had tried to play the Game of Houses.

"Nothing was proven, Trian," Harrowmount countered. "But no, it is not Sereda."

"Piotin? He's a bit of a dumbfuck but he's smart enough to listen to his advisors – and for all of his idiocy in the court, he's a fucking brilliant general." Brytta folded powerfully muscled arms to watch Harrowmount. Bastard was up to something.

"No. Endrin named _me_ as heir. He realised he'd been poisoned by Bhelen and knew how dangerous he'd be to the traditions of Orzammar should he become King."

It took everything in Brytta's power to shut her mouth as Trian gave her the look which warned her to let the Noble Caste handle this shit. "Is there any other witness who can verify this, Lord Harrowmount? I trust your word… but others, especially the deshyrs, will not."

"No. Endrin sent all but me from his deathbed." Harrowmount looked intently at Trian. "You know I would not lie about such a thing, Trian. Support me, please, so the transition can go as easily as possible in these difficult times."

Trian's eyes glittered. "No. I must bring this to the Assembly and allow the deshyrs to decide on the matter. With consultation from the Shaperate, of course."

"You would make this difficult-"

"I will _not_ see my sister rule Orzammar by proxy, Lord Harrowmount, until the Assembly decides upon the legality of the succession."

Brytta kept her mouth shut. Trian damned well knew who she wanted to rule.

"Very well… I will summon the Shapers to prepare Endrin's body for his funeral." Harrowmount huffed angrily and walked out, leaving the two Wardens alone with a corpse.

Brytta looked significantly at Trian. "You handle this shit. I'm going to get Wardens on the street to support the City Guard in preventing riots."

"Good idea… Bryt? Lock down Orzammar. We need to keep this clusterfuck contained."

"Ho-kay. Only people getting in will be Wardens." The redhead sighed and rubbed her broken nose. "By the Stone-cursed arseholes of my Ancestors, I hope this gets sorted quickly."

"So do I, Bryt. So do I."

…

North Road, 31st Cassus

'Twas amusing, the complete obliviousness to her presence the Antivan had.

Morrigan, for the sake of wisdom and discretion, had chosen to remain in hawk form during their trip to Kinloch Hold. Templars were not known for their social niceties and both Mara and that old Circle bat Wynne had advised the witch to keep a low profile until the treaty with the mages was concluded.

It was both maddening and exhilarating to be finally out in the world, away from Flemeth and her cruelties. She felt oddly regretful about leaving poor Mara alone with that self-righteous old crone, but the woman _was_ a superior healer to even Flemeth and had taken the trouble to teach Morrigan some of the skill. She supposed that it could not be helped that Wynne would be such a lecturing busybody, possessed as she was by a good Fade spirit.

Morrigan had expressed her opinion of Mara's intention to fight Anora in a duel – contrary to what the men thought, the witch thought it was a brilliant idea. Humiliate your enemy and utterly demoralise their supporters… Such was the way to complete victory.

She was beginning to understand that the people outside of the Korcari Wilds were not so different to the Chasind she knew. Oh, there was less body paint and cannibalism, but they were mostly the same. They were also far more complex than Flemeth had claimed, especially men.

She screamed a laugh as Daveth, that most maddening marsh man, taunted the Antivan. The thief pretended to be interested in naught but simple pleasures but in reality he was the most intelligent male amongst them. His single-minded pursuit of her was also quite flattering, even if his constant gazing upon her breasts had crossed the line of permissible lasciviousness on the third day of knowing him. Perhaps she should amuse herself with him, as both Mara and Wynne (alright, perhaps the old biddy was not an entirely lost cause) had suggested.

Ser Jory was not _quite_ as stupid as she feared but she continued to mock him out of habit and boredom. Interestingly enough he was the most intuitive of the group, sensing that the Antivan would be naught but trouble. His wife Helena was… _something._ She had called Morrigan 'too skinny' and constantly fed her whilst they lingered in Highever. And the way she doted on their son Duncan… 'Twas impractical, her affection, but Morrigan chose not to say anything.

Rennio d'Antiva, the Antivan who Mara called her foster father and had tolerated insults from that would have left any other man broken and bleeding on the floor, wore deception like a second skin. Of their group, even his fellow Grandmaster Zevran Arainai was more trustworthy… The elf was at least more honest in being a scheming killer. Naught mattered to Rennio but his plots and plans; he worked for the greater good, so to speak, but his 'greater good' would leave a lot of fine people dead. Not that the deaths of people she did not know would bother Morrigan overmuch, but if the Antivan didn't have a hand in the current turmoil in Ferelden, then Morrigan was a Chantry puppet.

The witch screamed again and soared higher into the sky. 'Twas her duty to find them decent camping sites and to spy approaching enemies. Thankfully, Daveth was something approaching an adequate cook, for she saw not Rennio lifting a hand to do menial labour…

Yes, Daveth would have to do for the purpose Flemeth set her to. Perhaps 'twould not even be a trial if some of the stories Mara had relayed as they'd prepared for the journey to Kinloch Hold, the blue-eyed girl insisting on giving her some clean underthings and a more ornate black leather corset with Chasind designs embossed on it.

_"Wade made it. He's dweomer, like me, and so can handle lyrium to a certain extent. It will give you a bit more protection without interfering in your magic,"_ she had said with a smile.

Morrigan had to admit that she quite liked corsets more than a breastband. They supported her better and accentuated her figure quite nicely.

_The world is both a strange and wonderful place, _she thought as she flew above the three Wardens.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Thanks for the reviews. Please remember this is one half of a story; the other is _Game of Princes: Queens and Hounds._ By the way, I think there should have been a 'kick Carroll in the testicles and take the boat' option in dialogue with him.

Jory also strikes me as a very ethical person; like a bit more of a gloryhound canon!unhardened!Alistair. So he's going to be Team Warden's moral compass…

And yes. I know. Justice is waaaaaay off-canon here; but I didn't want to destroy two great characters like DA2 did. So Justice possesses a soulless but living body now. :D

…

**Chapter 2**

Lake Calenhad Docks, 1st Verimensis 9:31

"…I do not know whether to be impressed or disturbed you managed to kick a templar in the balls through his armour. Most of them wear metal codpieces, you know."

"Yeah an' most of them wear red steel at best," Daveth smirked in response to Rennio's tone of mingled admiration and the instinctive horror every man displayed when they saw another kicked in the nads. He gestured to the metal caps on his light scouting boots. "Had those attached to me boots. Pure dragonbone caps."

"I'll need to remember that trick," Rennio observed musingly as Jory climbed onto the boat like he knew what he was doing. Then again, he was a brat from Redcliffe, so Daveth figured he'd know how boats worked.

Today was a grand fucking day. Morrigan paid him a visit last night, proving that she and Mara had discussed his preferences extensively; he managed to impress that prick of an Antivan; and he got to kick a templar in the balls. (Damn shame it wasn't that prick Alistair).

Jory's pudgy face bore an expression suspiciously close to a smirk as he took the oars, letting the others hop in before untying the bloody thing and casting off or whatever they did on the boats. But Jory couldn't smirk; he was too uptight about things.

Behind them, Carroll whimpered and swore as he struggled to get up in the shallow water. Pity it hadn't been deeper…

Given their run of luck, shit was going to go wrong at the Circle, so Daveth had asked Morrigan to scout ahead and enter the Tower via a window. Hopefully the magic already there would hide her… The mage had given him one hard look and said, "One day, I will ask a favour of you, and you will do it – no questions asked."

Daveth nodded and replied easily, "Yep, sure. Good with me."

After all, what was the worst she could ask of him?

…

Kinloch Hold, 1st Verimensis (Noon)

Jory's hand twitched for the Chasind flatblade sheathed across his back as Knight-Commander Greagoir, a hard-faced old man with eyes and hair of iron, point-blank informed the Wardens that the Right of Annulment had been invoked and every mage within these round stone walls would be slaughtered by templars within two days. Men, women and children whose only crime was to be mage-born… Not to mention the fact that if the templars raised their wards, Morrigan would be trapped within and killed with the rest.

He didn't much like the witch, but from what he knew of Flemeth and what Helena perceived upon meeting the woman, Morrigan had her fair share of issues. So he just let her barbs roll over him like water off a duck's back, like he had with poor dead Theron…

(Which reminded him that he still had the Dalish elf's amulet and would need to return it to the first nomad he met).

"We will save the mages," he firmly said as Daveth and Rennio shared concerned looks.

"An abomination is no easy opponent," Greagoir warned. "If you go in, Wardens, I'll have to lock you in until First Enchanter Irving stands before me and assures me the situation is under control."

"I will stay outside then," Rennio said quietly. "Though we should just let the Right of Annulment proceed-"

"I'll go in alone if I have to," Jory interrupted. "It's the _right_ thing to do, d'Antiva. Come or not as you please."

"I'll have ta join ya," Daveth agreed, albeit unhappily. No doubt he was more worried about Morrigan than any Circle mage he didn't know.

Jory disliked subterfuge but keeping Morrigan hidden from the Antivan had been a good idea. If Rennio was an example of a Gamesmaster, then the knight never wanted to be one. Everything was calculated to the nth degree in how it would advance d'Antiva's agenda of 'a united Thedas'. Had Jory been Warden-Commander, Rennio would never have joined the Order's ranks – because there was a big difference between Duncan's harsh pragmatism and the Black Griffin's self-serving ambition.

It was truly a sad world when _Daveth_ was a more ethical and moral person than a so-called noble.

"As you will then," Greagoir said with a sigh. Rennio went over to a nearby wall and lounged easily upon it as Daveth began to haggle with the templars' quartermaster for every flask of dangerous liquid, poison, medical supply and rune he could find. No doubt several small, valuable objects would be palmed by the thief to resupply any coin spent now…

Jory allowed himself a wry smile. Once he would have been appalled by the marsh man's behaviour… But it had been Daveth who talked him out of cowardice that fateful night of his Joining. Sure, the thief was rude, crude and lewd… But he faced enemies unflinchingly and was more compassionate than he'd admit.

Both he and Morrigan were deeper and better people than either would confess to Jory.

But that was alright, the knight reflected as he took the time to check his armour and sword before they entered the Circle itself. He'd keep the secrets for them.

…

Kinloch Hold (Mid-Afternoon)

"Who the fuck are you?"

'Twas the fifth or sixth time Morrigan had heard variations on that question since entering the Tower and finding herself beset by raging abominations and wandering demons. For the thousandth time she cursed Daveth for sending her in covertly and then recalled that he was not to know the Circle had attempted to throw off their shackles at the worst possible time…

She stepped around the bloody twist of rags that had once been a Rage Abomination and smiled fiercely at the vaguely familiar blond mage in Tevinter robes who'd been fending off five abominations whilst trying to protect a pair of cowering children. Admirable, if rather stupid of him. "I am Morrigan. If you are looking for somewhere safe, there is a foyer with four other mages _not_ trying to kill each other."

"There'll be nowhere safe until Uldred lies dead, assuming those bastards haven't already sent for the Right of Annulment," the mage spat in reply. "I'm Anders."

Morrigan now remembered him from the few surviving mages of Ostagar, a powerful healer equal in skill to Wynne but far less preachy and a bit more rebellious, she'd chanced to meet in Redcliffe. "You could have fled Ferelden; why return here?"

"I was tracked down as a known flight risk and dragged back in chains," Anders said flatly. "And now Uldred fucked up in the worst possible way and sentenced us all to death!"

"Are the templars coming back?" one of the children, a big-eyed girl with black hair, asked fearfully. "I don't wanna die like everyone else."

"I… do not know," Morrigan admitted. "I think they are waiting for more of their number to come from Denerim. 'Twould be the most likely course of action."

"Bastards!" Anders swore. "First they rip us from our families as children, then they cage us, then they render us Tranquil if they think we're too dangerous. Oh, and that's not the best part: there are templars who use and abuse us as they please, and if you speak out, you're killed as a maleficar."

Morrigan… did not know what to say. She had assumed that the mages had allowed themselves to be caged… but none of these people had access to an ages-old abomination of a mother or shapeshifting magic to escape.

"They killed most of the children on their retreat to the entrance foyer of the Tower," Anders continued, brown eyes blazing with fury. "Because children are more vulnerable to possession by dint of not having strong enough wills."

"An' they take your blood so they can track you," sniffled the girl. "I came last week."

"'Tis ironic that they use the very practice of blood magic to guard against it," Morrigan observed sarcastically. "Let us retreat to the foyer where the others are gathered and decide what to do."

She was not so certain why she was trying so hard to save them except that not all Circle mages were obviously Chantry puppets. This Anders had a spine and the children… By the powers old and dark, even _Mara and Zevran_ would try to save the children instead of killing them 'just in case.'

Her mother had always mocked the Circle mages, but Morrigan was beginning to understand they were truly unlucky and ignorant. Perhaps instead of deriding them, she ought to share the truths which would save them…

"Come," she urged. "I will share knowledge which might save your lives."

As she assumed the form of a great bear to guard against stray demons, she realised that Mara had explained many of her actions as 'enlightened self-interest': in helping others, you help yourself. And since more mages between her and the demons could only be a good thing, it behoved her to share what knowledge she had so survival seemed more certain…

…

Kinloch Hold (Late Afternoon)

Daveth and Jory found four pissed-off mages, two crying children, and an absolutely livid Morrigan in the foyer just beyond the apprentice dormitories. The sheer amount of carnage, wrought by abomination, demon and retreating templar, had only confirmed Daveth's disgust with the Chantry. Plenty of mages went through life not being blood mages, and yeah, the Tevinter lot were bastards, but why lock up folks forever just because they _might_ kiss up to demons and get possessed?

Fucking bastards. No wonder the mages said "Fuck you" to them.

Daveth quickly relayed the words of Greagoir to Morrigan and the other mages, none of whom looked happy. Then the witch looked thoughtful. "This could… be an opportunity," she mused. "What if we were to deal with Uldred… and then the templars?"

"I… don't believe mages should be locked up but templars are a necessary evil," Jory said slowly.

"Some few templars are decent people, like Cullen," some young elvish lass Daveth vaguely recalled from Ostagar pointed out.

"Neria, my dear, he's in love with you," Anders replied. "That's… assuming he survived."

"Let's deal with Uldred and then decide what to do," Jory suggested. The guy might be a bit of a noble idiot, but he wasn't completely stupid. And his missus was a nice sort in more ways than one.

Morrigan sighed and nodded her agreement. "…I would ask we destroy the phylacteries we can find at least," she finally said. "Let us give the survivors a chance for freedom."

"The phylacteries – apprentice an' all – were moved to Denerim after Jowan's escape," a blocky, sturdy-looking farmer boy pointed out laconically. "But with the magic Morrigan taught us, mebbe we could find them an' destroy them."

Then he transformed into a giant spider and clacked his fangs, making Daveth grin. Smart girl, his little witch was, teaching the mages a magic that would help them escape the templars.

"You're a fucking show-off, Daylen," Neria observed dryly. "Mister 'I see a spell once and master it…'"

Daveth eyed the open window thoughtfully and then looked at the two kids. They were probably about ten to twelve with the coltish, too-long limbs and unfinished features of the just-before-adolescent types. "Morrigan, teach these kids ta become birds. Reckon we send a word ta Mara, she might be able ta do somethin' 'bout them phylacteries – an' she got personal reason ta see it taken care of."

Morrigan grinned savagely as she perceived his plan. Daveth figured this Mages' Collective he'd heard about from Wynne and Aldous might be able to fill the void left by the Circle. Plenty mages able to watch themselves and Mara could use all the help she could get. These kids were too young to fight but plenty old enough – he hoped – to fly to Denerim.

It was a surprise how quickly it took the witch to teach the kids a single basic form: eagles, of all things. The kids were shown which direction the northeast was and were told to look for the city with the big-arse tower smack bang next to the big-arse mountain. From there, finding Mara should be easy, so long as they didn't do any magic.

…Okay, so the kids sort of made wonky eagles. But Morrigan simply said that the knowledge to fly was instinctive and the magic would keep them going…

Soon the kiddos were off and flying free; if nothing else, Daveth had saved a couple kids. And damned if that didn't feel good if Jory gave him an expression resembling respect.

…

Kinloch Hold (Early Evening)

Daveth might have privately entertained a fantasy or two of Mara and Morrigan doing the kinds of stuff Sanga charged top gold for at the Pearl but he also damned well knew that there was more chance of the archdemon becoming a vegetarian happening than the ladies obliging him. It hurt more than expected, though, to kill either woman – he still had something resembling a soft spot for the blue-eyed girl he'd known as Morna and Morrigan was… more… than he'd ever considered possible.

_Killing that motherfucker Sloth is goin' ta be the best thing about today_, he reflected as he stepped into another dream.

…

"This is a very delicious meal, Helena," Jory informed his wife as he finished up the meal she'd cooked for him.

"I'm glad you liked it," she said cheerfully. Beautiful Helena with her grass-green eyes and ample curves… Let Daveth lust after the busty but slim-hipped Morrigan; Jory liked a real woman with things you could actually hold.

He smiled down at Duncan, a sturdy auburn-haired lad, as he shovelled mashed roots into his mouth with all the heedlessness of a child. The boy had grown up in the shadow of a Blight, but now the threat was over, Jory knew he'd know nothing but sunlight and joy.

Someone opened the door without knocking: that scrapegrace Daveth, slayer of the archdemon. Trust the former thief to ignore good manners. "There ya are," he remarked, his voice still thick with that damnable country accent. "We gotta go, Ser Jory."

"Have you come for dinner?" Helena asked.

"Look, Sloth, I ain't none too happy today. Let me friend go an' I'll leave ya in peace," Daveth snapped.

"Did you just call my wife Sloth?" Jory demanded. Not even Daveth would be that rude!

"…Mate, yer missus is a demon. Well, it's a demon pretendin' ta be yer missus," Daveth retorted, obviously losing patience.

"But… we won the Blight!" Jory protested. He remembered the great victory at Ostagar after Cailan and Duncan's heroic self-sacrifice, the coronation of King Alistair and Queen Mara, Daveth and Morrigan's wedding…

"Not yet, Ser Knight," Daveth replied, this time sadly. "I need ya ta watch me back 'cause all I got is that prick Rennio."

_The Antivan._ Jory began to vaguely remember a tower and dead children and-

_Sleep._

He found himself clad in Warden's plate, flatblade in hand, as Helena's beloved visage shifted into something which could only be called demonic. But before he could react, both his wife and child fell with arrows in their throats; Daveth had killed them.

Jory howled his rage and fury at his most beloved daydream being tainted by demons. They would pay!

…

"Begone, foul demon!"

A voice of clarions and echoes rang through the miasma of despair which enveloped Anders as he held a dead Tranquil Karl, slain by the healer's own hand in the heart of a Chantry. There was no point in fighting the templars; they would always win. Just like everyone in the Circle had died, just like the Grey Wardens at Ostagar-

_"I said begone!"_ repeated the voice, lyrium-blue light washing over the faded, wavering interior of the Chantry. An armoured figure coalesced out of the brilliant glow, sword in hand as he strode towards the dead Karl. It looked like a templar, so Anders clung to Karl more tightly and howled his grief. No doubt he'd be Tranquil soon enough – and it would be a good fate.

"Mage, let him go," the spirit advised quietly. "It is a demon of despair, preying on your deepest sorrows and fears."

"Karl's dead and I failed him!" Anders screamed. "Let me die!"

"I do not know who Karl is but I assure you that thing in your arms is not it," the spirit retorted. "Now release him, mage, before I am forced to hurt you-"

"You will never take another mage as you did him!" Anders screamed, calling fire to burn this bastard templar to ash.

"Uh, Anders? He's right," said a rough Korcari voice from the edge of the Chantry, cutting through his fury. "That's a demon."

Then an arrow sprouted in Karl's forehead, right in the middle of the sunburst brand, and his form wavered into that of a shade before dissipating.

"Davy?" Anders blurted as the armoured spirit turned towards him and Jory.

"Daveth," the Grey Warden corrected. "C'mon, we got us a demon to kill an' a Circle to save."

"What's the point of saving them if they're just going to wind up dead or Tranquil?" Anders replied bitterly.

"The mage has a point," the spirit agreed. "Why should he help you when mages are apparently treated with such injustice?"

"Who said I was goin' ta let Greagoir an' his crew keep 'em?" Daveth countered. "I just sent a message ta a friend in Denerim. If she an' her crew can't find yer phylacteries, no one can."

"Will she agree to help?" Anders asked, daring to feel hope.

"I… didn't exactly say what they was, only that there was a buncha vials collected for use in blood magic that needed ta be destroyed," Daveth replied. "Milady Mara's got a nephew with magic who's studyin' with the Mages' Collective."

_Mara Cousland._ If anyone could see it done, it would be the Runaway Wife. Anders allowed himself to believe freedom might be possible.

"I… should not approve of a lie; but if it prevents an injustice, I must ignore it," the spirit declared.

"Good fer you, whatever yer name is. Love ta stay an' chat but we got a demon ta kill."

"I will join you. You may call me… Justice… for that is what I am."

Daveth shrugged. "Okay. More the merrier. Let's go."

…

Niall's corpse fell to the ground with a thud as Morrigan's eyes opened. Of the five Circle mages who had survived the initial infestation of demons, two were dead, drained by Sloth, and only Anders, Daylen and Neria remained. But they were the toughest of their breed, adamantine spirits yearning for a freedom some had never known. Morrigan never expected to even mildly respect Circle mages, but it appeared life was full of surprises.

The fighting on the way to something Daylen called the Harrowing Chamber was almost tedious after the Fade. The witch had been trapped in a dream of a loving mother who looked sort of like Eleanor Cousland and a bit like Jory's wife Helena… To know she longed for such a thing was unforgiveable weakness!

Daylen explained what the Harrowing was and Morrigan had to confess it was a harsh if brilliant way to cull weak mages. Pity that the blasted templars drove so many to fail it!

Then they found a half-broken templar by name of Cullen, one who Neria had said was friendly towards mages, trapped behind a barrier. They questioned him but he proved useless, begging them to kill the mages to save everyone else. If not for that barrier, Morrigan would have put him out of his misery and to protect herself… and the others.

Even the witch, who had seen what Flemeth could wrought when furious, was astounded by the corruption and carnage of the Harrowing Chamber. A bald man, full of the brim of pride demon, was warping the surviving mages' minds into accepting possession. Of the surviving mages, only one – an old bearded man who had to be Irving – had managed to resist as he gasped out the abomination's plans.

Things predictably devolved into a brawl and just as predictably, Jory using the Litany of Adralla, ended with Uldred's death at Daveth's hands. Daylen and Neria helped Irving to his feet, explaining what had gone on, as Anders healed the old man as best he could with limited mana and no lyrium.

"Let us tell Greagoir Uldred is dead," Irving finally quavered. "Curse those who put the Circle in a tower!"

"Don't worry, old boy; when I sprin' ya from this place, I'll find a nice cottage for ya," Daveth promised cheerfully.

"Spring…?"

"I'm plannin' ta take yas with me. Greagoir killed nearly all the kids an' from what I've heard, them bastard templars drove a lot of folks ta support that prick Uldred," Daveth replied bluntly. "I'll bloody well invoke the Right of Conscription if'n I gotta, but I ain't leavin' no kids in this shithole."

"I… hope you know what you're doing, Warden," Irving said with a sigh as they headed for the stairs.

…

Kinloch Hold, 2nd Verimensis (Midnight)

"_You will stand the fuck down and shut the fuck up before I shove six feet of Chasind flatblade down your gullet!"_

It was a privilege and a pleasure to hear Ser Jory of the Grey Wardens, a veteran knight of ten years and a man armed with a sword big enough to make Meredith Stannard envious, roar Greagoir into a startled silence long enough for his fellow Warden to inform the Knight-Commander of the new order of things.

Anders busied himself by watching the gathered templars tense, knowing that a fight would most likely happen. There were nine templars to the two Wardens (apparently the Antivan guy didn't count) and five mages (Morrigan had vanished through an open window, smart woman) – but they had Justice on their side, so they'd win.

The Fade spirit had been trapped in Niall's dead body in the backlash of Sloth's demise and the group being catapulted back into the waking world… until they reached the Harrowing Chamber and he'd instinctively slipped into a living mage's body just before a demon of Uldred's could.

So Justice found himself in the living body of an elven mage whose soul had been hollowed out by blood magic… As if life couldn't get more… _interesting._ Thankfully the spirit had the wit to shut up while Daveth and Greagoir argued.

Finally Rennio d'Antiva coughed as Daveth threatened to conscript everyone and have done with it. "Knight-Commander, demons drive where needs must. All of these younger mages are known troublemakers – let them be our problem whilst you and Irving rebuild the Circle. After all… we Grey Wardens fight things worse than demons."

"Only if I can send templars with them," Greagoir growled in reply. "Cullen can lead them."

"I will?" blurted the injured templar, a bit of sanity returned to his eyes now he knew Neria Surana was alive and unharmed.

"We take Irving an' the elf an' Cullen in addition to Surana, Anders and Amell," Daveth counteroffered. "This place ain't goin' ta be fit ta live in fer anyone, let alone mages."

"And where will you take them?" Greagoir asked, looking furious.

The Warden grinned. "Amaranthine."

Greagoir scowled. "Fine! Just go and may the Maker damn you all."

Once they were all crowded onto the boat going over and were halfway across the lake, Anders looked at Daveth and said, "He'll come after us, you know."

The Warden smirked. "That's why I said Amaranthine. I'm takin' you lot to the Frostbacks; place is neutral territory an' if'n ya can get on the dwarves' good side, reckon there might be a place in Orzammar itself fer yas. An' even if'n Mara can't destroy the phylacteries fer ya, reckon them templars ain't goin' ta piss off the source of their lyrium."

"Your actions will cause a lot of unnecessary turmoil," Rennio said flatly. "Possibly even an Exalted March against the mages. They'd do better to content themselves with the situation and prove themselves worthy of trust."

"Why should we?" Anders demanded, angry with this self-righteous Antivan Warden with the scheming eyes. He'd heard of the Prince of Crows… He wasn't impressed with him since he was of the 'don't rock the boat' crowd.

"Because you are controlled for good reasons. Quite frankly, I think most mages can't handle their power and oight to be rendered Tranquil sooner rather than later. If a danger can't be controlled, it should be eliminated for the good of all."

"Your nephew's a mage, d'Antiva. Could you condone him being rendered Tranquil because he had trouble with his powers?" Jory demanded.

"If he couldn't control it, then regrettably yes. Besides, as a mage, he is no longer a member of my family but a member of the Circle. Still, if he were adept and ambitious, I would do everything in my power to see he served a purpose."

"Ah yes, your 'great work'," Jory sneered. "Some things can't be allowed because they're wrong. I can support mages being taken from their family and placed in a safe environment to learn how to handle their powers so long as it was treated as fosterage and they could maintain contact with their relatives. But I can't condone this sort of… mistreatment. Maker's breath, _dead children!_ How can you remain unaffected by that?"

"Because each child was a potential abomination," the Antivan replied calmly in the face of Jory's scorn. "You threaten the stability of Ferelden – of Thedas itself – for some nebulous idea of 'freedom'. Most people do not care about who is in charge so long as they fed, clothed and safe. The greater good is what matters, not 'freedom'."

"Thank ya again for remindin' me of how much a cunt ya are," Daveth said with a falsely pleasant smile.

"Call me what you will, Daveth, but when your new friends are burned at the stake for being rogue mages and the Orlesians accept this as the perfect excuse to invade again, remember what I said," d'Antiva replied as he pointedly looked away.

Anders gripped Justice's arm to stop the spirit… mage… whatever from killing the Antivan. He knew enough about history to know they'd need all the Wardens they could get. And that this 'freedom' of his would likely come with a price tag.

But this… this might be a change for the better. For the first time in forever, Anders dared himself to hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Thanks for the reviews. Have you ever wondered what if Warden!Amell were ever to meet sarcastic!rogue!Hawke? Welp, here we are. Enjoy. For sake of convenience, I'm going to use DA2 magical references because they're more awesome. Implications of and references to recreational drug use.

…

**Chapter 3**

Redcliffe, 3rd Verimensis 9:31 (Late Night)

"By the Bride of the Maker… You're… You're an Amell!"

Daylen was minding his own business in Lloyd's Tavern when some old grey-haired biddy in a peasant's dress walked in and blurted out the statement like it should mean something. The blocky mage took a long pull of sour ale and gave her an exasperated expression. "That's the last name the Circle gave me. It should mean something?"

"I… You're _Daylen?_ Revka's lad? Sweet Bride of the Maker, lad: I'm your aunt Leandra! Well, more cousin, but close enough!"

Daylen sighed. "Yeah, that's nice. No offence, lady, but I just lost most of my friends and just got told by someone to enjoy my last ale because I'm going darkspawn hunting. So excuse me if I don't exactly give a shit."

He'd never much seen the point in social graces. He was a mage in the Circle… Well, now technically apostate unless he opted to take Daveth's offer to join the Grey Wardens. The thief hadn't minced words with the mage, telling him that out of the survivors, he, Justice and Anders were the best candidates; Irving was too old and Neria just too damned fragile. But short of running to Tevinter, joining the Grey Wardens would give Daylen and the healer some kind of freedom and even respect; Daveth wasn't even sure if the dwarves would take the mages, though he'd said a Warden named Brosca would argue strongly for it.

_"There's an apostate in Redcliffe I'm intendin' ta recruit," he'd added. "Frankly, with all this damned mess, we need more mages than just the one."_

Loghain's actions at Ostagar were criminally stupid at best, downright treasonous at worst. Not that Daylen cared. Neither Wardens nor mages cared for politics and soon he'd be both.

The door opened and Anders entered, dressed in the blue and white Warden's robes, accompanied by a pretty black-haired girl who resembled the old biddy in front of him. She radiated magical energy so intense – and oddly familiar – that Daylen nearly choked on his ale. Perhaps this Leandra was correct in that they were related to each other.

"Daylen, this is Bethany Hawke," the healer said as he approached. "She'll be joining us."

The blocky mage smiled and rose to offer his fellow recruit a hand to shake. "Daylen Amell. Pleased to meet you, Miss Hawke."

Bethany took his hand and shook it as Leandra paled. "Just Bethany. We'll be travelling together, won't we?"

"Aye." So, perhaps Daveth had decided that Bethany _shouldn't_ be a Warden. Given that she didn't seem that physically strong, much like Neria, perhaps he'd opted for caution.

"Travelling…? Bethany, what do you mean?" Leandra asked, face ashen.

"Warden Daveth's escorting what's left of the Fereldan Circle of Magi to Orzammar," Bethany replied. "Mother… I can't stay and it's too much to ask you and Garrett to take risks for me. This is my best hope of staying alive and free."

"What if you die?" Leandra asked.

"If the darkspawn win, we _all_ die," the apostate pointed out. Perhaps she was tougher than she looked.

"I can't let you do this," Leandra insisted. "I'm getting Garrett."

"I'm already here," said a shadow from the back of the tavern, resolving into the long, lanky form of a bearded man. "Mother… She's right. Redcliffe can't afford the liability of an apostate when everyone will be looking for an excuse to attack a 'rebel' base."

Then those hard brown eyes settled on Daylen as Garrett Hawke smirked. "Judging by the way you treated my mother, I can understand why the Amells dispatched you to Ferelden at such a young age."

"If you're a shining example of Amell blood, I'm glad they did," Daylen countered coolly. He'd heard tales of Garrett Hawke since coming to Redcliffe.

It appeared the rogue didn't appreciate his sarcasm being turned against him because he lost the smirk and actually scowled. "Mother, there's no point in talking to him. I know you'd like more family… But well, we'd be better off without this good little Circle puppet."

Anders brayed with laughter. "Good little Circle puppet? Hey Daylen, I think this guy's trying to insult you!"

The Amell mage smirked at his second cousin. "The only reason I wasn't made Tranquil, _Hawke_, is because Irving made sure I was one of the best damned Elemental mages in the Circle. I set fire to a templar's pants once and froze Senior Enchanter Sweeney's assets."

Bethany grinned as several of the patrons chuckled. It seemed they weren't too intimidated by mages in their midst… or Garrett was just that unpopular. Could even be both. He seemed like a real arse.

"He also failed to mention the time he lifted the Revered Mother's skirts during the First Day sermon last year using a fine thread of Force magic," Anders added with a sly smile.

"You aren't planning on lifting my daughter's skirt, are you?" Leandra demanded sharply.

Daylen and Anders exchanged looks and then glanced at the suddenly blushing Bethany. "Only if she wants us to," the healer said slyly.

Leandra gasped, Garrett scowled… and Bethany looked embarrassed but intrigued.

"Now, now, gents, ya can flirt with the girl later," Daveth drawled from the doorway. "I'd be advisin' ya ta get some sleep 'cause we go at dawn."

"Good! The sooner you're gone, the better," Hawke countered.

Bethany looked stricken. "Do you really mean that about me?" she asked, sounding hurt.

Hawke blinked. "Maker's breath, no, sis! I mean Amell and the rest-"

"Garrett, you are my brother and I love you. But you should curb your tongue before someone removes it," Bethany interrupted sadly but firmly. "Mother will need you more than ever now that Carver's in Denerim serving Princess Mara and I'll be going with the Wardens."

"_Princess_ Mara? Well, _that_ girl didn't waste time," Leandra observed sharply. Daylen was coming to the conclusion that the Hawkes were (mostly) useless or just pains in the arse.

Daveth smiled – and it wasn't a pleasant expression. This was a man Daylen would hate to run into on a dark night in the Fade. "An' this from the woman who sent Carver ta try an' marry her hisself, _Milady._ Maker knows that girl's got her faults but there ain't nobody better that Alistair coulda married. _He_ knows war… an' _she_ knows how arseholes work."

"Can we please not fight?" Bethany said beggingly. Poor girl was no doubt sheltered. Fighting a Blight would probably kill her – but Daylen knew Daveth, as acting Warden-Commander, couldn't be polite.

He finished his ale and headed up to the bedroom he was sharing with Jory; Anders had a bad habit of groping him in his sleep and Irving got his own room. It would be good to get away from Redcliffe and a so-called family…

…

Warden's Barracks, Diamond Quarter, Orzammar, 5th Verimensis (Morning)

Trian Aeducan sighed as he read yet another petition from a Noble Caste wanting the Grey Wardens to support them in some underhanded scheme or another. Once he thought he could stand aside from the Game of Houses, immune to it by dint of being both eldest and designated Prince, but Sereda and Bhelen had proven him wrong. In his more mellow moments (brought about by the smoking of starweed) or in the presence of Brytta Brosca, he could admit that he'd have been a poor King and even appreciate the reasons why Bhelen had initiated the strife between him and Sereda. Orzammar needed to change with the times or be swallowed by the darkspawn… But Bhelen had set Sereda up to _kill him_-

But a grizzled, dark-skinned Grey Warden and three ragged, haggard-looking Dusters had just beaten Sereda's mercenaries to the centre of Aeducan Thaig and saved his life. Duncan had fought with the skill of a veteran and both Leske and Sigrun were competent brawlers but Brosca… By the holy Stone itself, Brytta possessed the speed, strength and stamina to put most of the Warrior Caste to shame. No wonder she'd won that Glory Proving she'd entered illegally…

Trian had been forced to reconsider both his view on the casteless and status as a Prince. He knew that Sereda wanted to be Queen – and since she had Father's approval, it was more than likely she'd be chosen – and that Bhelen would remove whatever obstacles he deemed necessary in order to save Orzammar itself.

He knew that one or the other would likely kill or disgrace him within the next couple years. Trian found that he really didn't want to die, either physically or by joining the Legion of the Dead, and so he'd chosen the one course which would allow him to keep both caste and honour but remove him from the succession.

It had been a close choice between Brytta Brosca, the more charismatic Warden, and Trian, the more connected one, for the job of Warden-Commander in Orzammar. But in the end Trian had swallowed his pride and allowed Brosca to take command because, quite simply, she was now family even if she refused the name Aeducan. Bhelen had proven his cunning once again by siring a son upon Rica, Brytta's sister, and giving House Aeducan a child who, if he possessed a tenth of Brosca's raw ability, would be amongst the greatest fighters and leaders of the Noble Caste. So far little Endrin was living up to that promise.

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed with Duncan and accepted Warden-Second of Ferelden," Brytta mused sadly as she leant against the archway to his small office. The rogue had never forgotten her roots as a petty pickpocket and burglar for the Carta, moving with a silence that unnerved Trian despite ten years and more of knowing her.

"You'd be a corpse at Ostagar, Endrin dead of a 'fever' and your sister turning tricks in Dust Town again," Trian replied bluntly. He and Brytta were honest with each other, in and out of bed.

"More like my sister would be a corpse. Sereda's not exactly subtle," Brytta countered with a grimace.

"True," Trian conceded, running a hand through short-cropped ash-blonde hair. "I… know which candidate you'd prefer on the throne."

"I also know that if Harrowmount wasn't married to your sister, you'd be openly backing him," Brytta said with a wry smile.

"True," Trian admitted. "I assume you've got Daveth's latest report, judging by the expression on your face."

"The topsiders aren't quite as stupid as I thought; they've got a truce on until their harvest season so they can grow stuff and kill darkspawn," Brytta confirmed. "However, Daveth has managed to piss off the Chantry by taking what's left of the mages after some demon-thingy gone wrong and bring them here. He tells me he's sticking at least three of them through the Joining once he's got the stuff for it."

Trian groaned. "The Assembly's going to pitch a fit."

"If the mages are willing to push back darkspawn, I don't think most of the Assembly will give a rat's ass about them being down here," Brytta pointed out dryly.

"That's… true. But it's a little annoying that he thinks he can dump his mess in our laps and expect us to fix it."

Brytta grinned, that slow evil expression which Trian had come to associate with her planning something particularly subtle and brilliant that would probably shake up Orzammar. The last time she'd pulled that sort of stunt, she'd convinced the Assembly and the Shaperate to allow all subsequent children born of a casteless person who'd produced a casted child to be of their elder sibling's Caste… Sereda's head had nearly exploded; Trian had been rather amused by it at the time.

"I see no reason why we can't oblige him. I mean, after all, don't we have our own mess we could drop into _his_ lap?"

Trian began to slowly grin, matching his commander's expression. Because as any dwarven noble knew well, reciprocation of favours was a perfectly valid political technique. And besides, Daveth was of the Fereldan Wardens; if he botched up, both he and Brytta could disclaim responsibility.

"Woman, if you were Noble Caste, you'd be Queen of Orzammar now."

"By the Stone-rotted rumps of my Ancestors, I hope not! I'd sooner blow an Ogre!"

Trian laughed and set aside the damned letter from a noble in favour of some starweed. Now that they'd found a potential way to solve the stalemate in Orzammar, he figured they could spend some time to relax. Tomorrow would no doubt bring its own problems and tonight there would be trouble – but it wasn't the Grey Wardens' problem which noble killed another.

After all, it was their job to stay out politics.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting! _Kings and Griffins _will now leap ahead of_ Queens and Hounds _because the focus will be on the Orzammar/Deep Roads crap whereas _Queens and Hounds _is day by day.

For those familiar with the Diamondverse stories, the breakpoint for Brytta in this AU is that she eventually chose ambition over Duncan to become Warden-Commander of Orzammar and that her recruitment happened ten years earlier.

My Wardens also have somewhat more than just heightened endurance and stamina; all physical attributes (Strength, Dexterity and Stamina) are slightly above average for their race.

…

**Chapter 4**

Gherlon's Gates, Orzammar Outskirts, 11th Verimensis 9:31

When Brytta saw the mass of Grey Warden uniforms on the horizon, she instinctively raised her hand to wave the Warden-Commander forward… until she recalled he was carrion at Ostagar and the olive-skinned man leading the group was little more than a poor man's Duncan. Oh, no doubt he was competent – her former lover would accept nothing less in his recruits – but… he wasn't Duncan. He'd never be the man who raised her from the Dust and brought her into the Grey, the man who'd given her his heart, the man who'd let her go without protest when her drive to lead overruled her love for him. Sometimes she wondered if he'd given up after she became Warden-Commander of Orzammar, just plodded along through a sense of duty.

But she set that feeling aside. She and Duncan had chosen their paths and it was the actions of others who led to his death. If Brytta got her hands on Loghain, she'd crush the topsider's skull. Or mount his head on a pike. Or use his skull for a drinking cup. So long as he died, she'd be good.

If Duncan had been broad-shouldered and muscular from years of wearing plate armour, grim and grizzled, then Daveth was leaner and shorter but no less hard. He reminded her of Leske, dead in the Joining… Except this guy was born to be great. He'd get songs written about him unless he died killing the archdemon.

Given he was dumping one hell of a royal fuck up in her lap she was kind of hoping he did. Still, with the yakking she'd done to the Assembly, they were at least willing to let the non-Warden mages settle topside in the trader's settlement. Mostly because either side were hoping for an extra weapon against their enemies…

Fucking morons. Sereda was so lousy a person she had to pay noble hunters to fuck her and Harrowmount had smaller balls than a nuglet. Honour was nugshit; the only thing that mattered was power and how it could change the world. But Brytta had to shut up and let Trian run that side of things because no matter the fact she was the most badass Warden in Orzammar, she was still a Duster to the nobles.

_You'd think they'd make me Paragon after I made an Ogre's skull into a bathtub,_ she thought wryly as she lifted her hand to alert Daveth to her presence.

It didn't take the cloudheads with their longer legs long to get up the hill and meet her at Gherlon's Gates, the two statues which guarded the border between Orzammar and Ferelden on one side with two matching ones doing the same on the Orlesian side. "I'm Warden-Commander Brytta Brosca," she said curtly. "The non-Warden mages have been allowed to stay in the trading settlement but if they cause trouble, I'll be the first to call a templar from the Orlesian side of things."

"Fair 'nough," Daveth replied, offering his hand. Brytta took it reluctantly because he was leader and she supposed technically her equal at the moment. "The Wardens an' recruits are Ser Jory, Rennio, Anders, Justice an' Daylen. The ladies are Neria, Bethany an' Morrigan; the last has ta stay with us 'cause Flemeth sent her ta stop the Blight. The other two blokes are First Enchanter Irvin' an' Cullen the templar."

"Nice to meet'cha. Do they have their blood?"

"Yeah, we ran inta a band on the way from Redcliffe," Daveth replied.

"Good. We have the lyrium and other stuff." Brytta eyed the non-Warden mages. "The only rule which matters up here is that you don't fuck up trade or passage. Anything else goes, so if Orlesian Chantry morons send someone after you, you'll get no help from us. Of course, you do have the legal right to explode them, just so long as it doesn't fuck up trade."

Irving frowned. "Can the Assembly see us?"

"Not until those fucking inbreeds decide on a King since Endrin carked it. Which at this rate is going to be some time after the Seventh Blight."

"It's more than we had, Irving," the elf Neria assured the old guy.

"True… But maybe we should have remained at the Circle, Neria…"

"Look, both sides see the use of having you mages. Problem is that no one's got the authority to sort this shit out until a King's chosen." Brytta sighed. "That's why the Wardens sealed the gates; we're the only thing that's kept the city from going arse over tit these past couple weeks."

"An' bein' Wardens, there's fuck all we can do about the political shit," Daveth pointed out.

"Well, the Orzammar Wardens have too many ties to be trusted. Outside Wardens…? I dunno. You're Warden-Commander, Daveth; it's your call." Brytta shrugged and turned to allow them passage through Gherlon's Gates. "I took the liberty of getting you mages a warehouse. It's a shit place but you won't have to pay rent and you can fix it up as you please."

"Thank you very much," the pretty human Bethany said diplomatically.

"If you've got a healer amongst you, you'll be laughing," Brytta continued. "Even dwarves love healers."

"Anders is the best healer, but Neria's no slouch," Daylen rumbled. "And Cullen's presence might keep the nasties at bay, ma'am."

"Just Brytta or Warden-Commander if you _have_ to be formal," Brytta told him. She hoped the Fereldan Wardens could read between the lines of what she was saying; coming out and saying that she wanted them to sort out the Assembly shit would be… fucking awkward.

"Well, thanks for all you've done," Daylen continued. "We'd be… slaughtered… if we'd stayed behind."

"Y'know why templars are so stupid? It's because they're standing up wearing metal all the time so they don't have enough blood to get to the brain. They're kind of like taller nobles."

Daveth snickered as Cullen raised an eyebrow. "What is your point, Warden-Commander?"

"Tell someone they're scum enough and they'll become it. Sure, you've got your bad lot in Tevinter, but most of the apostates I know just want to be left the fuck alone. Most of you lot get told you're gonna get possessed by demons and what happens? You get a demon in your head. You're kinda like Dusters, so I feel for you. It just sucks I can't do a lot for you short of making you Wardens."

"It's less than we hoped but more than we expected," Irving told her as Daylen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maker willing, we will be fine."

"I hope so, salroka. Because we've enough trouble in Orzammar without the topside going batshit insane too."

…

Wardens' Barracks, Orzammar

"Brosca wants us to intervene in the Orzammar conflict."

"No shit, shaman," Daveth drawled as he lounged on the cot he'd appropriated as 'Warden-Commander'. Jory, Rennio, Daylen, Anders and Justice would need to make do with bunks.

This had been the first time he'd met Warden-Commander Brytta Brosca and even Rennio had to admit that the tales didn't do her justice. Short even for a dwarf but with compact, rock-hard muscles beneath lush curves, the auburn-haired Duster put even Duncan in the shade through sheer force of personality and ability. Unapologetic about her greatness, Brosca demanded respect and received it; unlike Duncan, who'd allowed himself to be a rug outside the Order and a prick within. They'd probably broken up because he was in fear of being overshadowed by the woman.

She was also an excellent pragmatist who was willing to use whatever tools that came her way to sort out the mess that had landed in her lap. However, she was asking too much for the favour she'd done for Daveth, and so it would fall to Rennio to extract full price.

So once the others were busy or asleep, he cited a need to walk around the city and went to accost Brytta at her preferred drinking hole – Tapster's. Her head for alcohol was nearly as legendary as her kill count even if Rennio loathed dwarven intoxicants…

One flagon of mead later, he was ensconced in a semi-private booth with a pair of malachite-green eyes measuring him. "You want me to keep shit under control in Ferelden," she said bluntly in coarse Antivan before he opened his mouth.

"I… yes." Rennio was both impressed and disturbed by how easily she'd read him. "Put the candidate on the throne I want and you'll get yours."

"I'm good but not that good," Brosca admitted easily as she took a long pull of Valenta Red. "Best I can do is conscript the odd supporter of your candidate's rivals, maybe channel some Carta shit to the guy you like."

"I… appreciate your honesty," Rennio finally said. There was something to be said for working with someone with open expectations and no illusions about themselves. "I take it we will need to be more… subtle… in Orzammar?"

"On one side we've got Bhelen Aeducan, a ruthless sonuvabitch who's my brother-in-law and a reformer; on the other we've Sereda Aeducan, who's just smart enough to be dangerous, and her honourable twit of a husband Harrowmount," Brosca replied. "Bhelen gives Dusters the time of day, so I prefer him, but my trusted second is a Harrowmount man."

"You trust him…?"

"Uh, yes. We've been through thick and thin and when it comes to darkspawn, I can trust my back to him." Brosca took another drink. "I want this mess sorted out, and despite my personal preferences, I'll deal with whoever wins. The Blight comes first above all else."

He supposed that Brosca couldn't be perfect; after all, she'd been trained by Duncan, who was pathetically monofocused. Grey Wardens needed to be much more than just slayers of darkspawn; they were the one major neutral organisation in Thedas that wasn't a religion. They should be mediating conflicts, sorting out disputes, killing warmongering idiots…

His Order was so blinded by the darkspawn that they failed to realise they should be discreetly running Thedas. Wardens were faster, stronger and more enduring than ordinary mortals; if they could be the unifying force of Thedas, like the Chantry, they could gather the nations that much quicker in a Blight and keep themselves respected in between archdemons.

Rennio knew that his time was limited; it would fall to him to either train a candidate to replace him as Black Griffin or conscript someone to take his place. Had Mara been a man, it would have been her. But alas, all she'd so far proven to be was good for getting into trouble and making babies…

"I understand, Brosca. The situation in Ferelden is different because-"

"Because that prick Loghain left Duncan to die," Brosca interrupted. "I don't care who you want running the show topside, but I want his balls on a platter and his skull as a cup."

Rennio smiled. She still cared for Duncan; that simpleminded desire for revenge would prove useful against his opponents on the surface. "I assure you, beyond his fighting the darkspawn until the Landsmeet, I have no use for him."

Brytta nodded. "Fine. Tell me how you think I can help and I'll see what I can do."

"I shall do the same for you then." They shook hands in the middle of a busy tavern and for the first time in forever, Rennio felt relief. His plans would come to fruition and he could find his rest with an easy heart…


	5. Chapter 5

Note: Thanks for reading, reviewing, whatever. I hope you all have happy holidays and New Year.

I have my own interpretation of the dwarven Ancestors and Memories and why the Shapers exist. I hope people don't mind it!

…

**Chapter 5**

Wardens' Barracks, Orzammar, 15th Verimensis 9:31

"Whaddya know, Chantry Boy's good for somethin'," Daveth drawled as he read Mara's brief note, sent via pigeon to a merchant in the trader's settlement who answered to the Couslands and then delivered to Daveth. A Warden was sent up there daily; given that they were the only people allowed to come and go as they please, Daveth's people were quickly building a network of contacts just by running errands for dwarves and others. Rennio seemed to approve of Daveth's actions (which kind of made the thief feel dirty) and Brosca had put her Carta contacts at his disposal.

In four days, the mages had become popular topside: Anders and Neria, both excellent healers, had opened a clinic where people could pay or not as they could afford, in what they could part with. Irving was offering practical advice to the 'council' that ran the trader's settlement while Cullen was organising the various mercenaries settled there into something resembling a cohesive force. Smart bastards were making friends to stop the Chantry from getting them.

"The kids made it safely but Mara says it's goin' ta be some weeks before she can make a strike at the phylacteries," Daveth told Anders before he could ask. "Before ya get shitty, her mother's throat was cut an' everybody's favourite royal bastard's knocked her up, so's she's goin' ta have her hands full for a few weeks."

Anders winced. "I… hope she's alright. Good woman; she helped tend the sick at Ostagar."

Justice, on the other hand, wasn't so understanding. His sharp elven features tightened with anger as he said, "This injustice should be rectified immediately!"

"Look, mate, Mara's jugglin' several different injustices to be taken care of. Which one should she put first? The one where a bitch took her kids an' won't give 'em back an' refuses ta get her arse off the throne? Or the one where her mamma was murdered an' her daddy poisoned, probably because of politics? Or the one where her hubby's supporters are all locked up in a district or in a cell because power-hungry bastards want ta rule?"

Justice scowled. The spirit really had a one-track mind… Hopefully being human would help him a lot.

"Justice… Mara Cous- Theirin keeps her word," Anders said placatingly. "From what I've heard about her, she's probably making plans now, and will try to get several things done at once."

"She said she'd do her damnedest ta have it done by spring," Daveth reassured the spirit. "She also told me where ta find them little vials in case she couldn't."

"Hmmph." At least the spirit looked a little mollified. Then he tilted his head; it was strange how _hard_ the spirit looked in the delicate form of a blue-eyed, blonde-haired elf who was prettier than most women. "D'Antiva has committed many injustices and plans more."

"I'mma try an' lose him down the Deep Roads," Daveth replied, thanking the Maker that the Black Griffin was watching the Assembly bicker. "But Wardens don't give a rat's ass what ya done, so long as ya can kill darkspawn."

"I can understand finding redemption, Daveth, by fighting a horrible evil. But he plans to use this chaos for his own ends."

"No shit." Daveth sighed. "He's a cunt but we have ta put up with him. Maker willin', his Callin' will kick in soon an' he'll fuck off ta the Deep Roads."

Justice frowned unhappily… but Anders looked both sick and thoughtful. Now they were both Wardens, they'd had a lot of grim tidings from Daveth… and gotten more from Brosca, who'd sat the Warden-Commander down and explained _why_ the Wardens were needed.

Daveth was still trying to find a way to break _that_ news to his recruits. How do you tell someone that they'd need to sacrifice their soul to kill the archdemon?

How did you prepare yourself for such a sacrifice?

The Warden-Commander sighed and knuckled his eyes. "I'm goin' ta talk ta the Shapers. Reckon them lot might have some practical advice."

"Before you go… I… have an idea." Anders wiped his mouth like he was going to vomit any second. "You know I'm a healer, right?"

"Yeah, I think most of us do by now," Daveth drawled, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"I can boost a person's resistance to diseases… I can also… decrease it. I could… _speed up_… Rennio's Calling because he's on the cusp of it."

"Do it," Justice urged. "We're better off without him."

Much as Daveth wanted to agree with him, instead the thief found himself shaking his head. "No. We need all the Wardens we can get. Even him."

"You know something, don't you?" Justice accused.

"Yeah. Wardens gotta be the ones that kill the archdemon… an' we cark it in doin' so."

"Because otherwise the archdemon's soul will just pop into another darkspawn's body and the whole thing starts again," Anders added with a sigh.

Daveth stared at the mage and he smiled sadly. "I've been reading the written records left by previous Wardens in the Shaperate."

"Heh. Maker willin', it'll be that bastard who takes the deathblow."

"I doubt he would sacrifice himself so," Justice rumbled.

"Probably not, assumin' he knows 'bout the archdemon. Maybe we'll be lucky an' I'll convince him that assassinatin' an archdemon will make him the greatest Crow of all time."

Of all people, it was the Fade spirit who smirked. "Use his pride against him? It's days like this I think there's hope for you yet, Daveth, you have such an innate sense of justice."

"Fuckin' oath, don't tell nobody, Justice. I got a reputation ta maintain!"

"Don't worry, Daveth. I know no one could mistake you for a good person." If it was anyone other than Justice, Daveth was sure they were being sarcastic. But Fade spirits were incapable of sarcasm… right?

"I'm goin'," the thief said shortly. "Lemme know if somethin' changes, yeah?"

"Of course," Anders said, his tone doubtful. Totally understandable because the dwarves were thick as stone… Probably because that's where they came from.

But Daveth chose not to say anything, instead taking the short walk to the Shaperate. He needed advice… and answers.

…

The Wall of Memories, Shaperate, Diamond Quarter, Orzammar

"This section of the Memories is reserved for the Grey Wardens," the Assistant Shaper Milldrate said as Daveth, formally clad in the armour he'd nabbed from the Denerim compound, looked at the grey granite wall, etched with softly glowing lyrium runes beneath a layer of clear crystal that was warm to the touch, in awe. "To activate it, prick your finger and bleed on the scarlet rune there, then lay your forehead against the Stone."

"Sounds like blood magic," Daveth said uneasily. When he'd come to ask to see the Wardens' records, he was hoping for books or something.

Milldrate smiled sympathetically. "Blood feeds the Stone, lad, and connects us to the Ancestors. This Wall contains the Memories of every Warden who went on the Calling and those who could share them whenever they could. Your predecessor Duncan was quite assiduous about it until last year."

"So's… the Wardens are kinda like my Ancestors?"

"Indeed," Milldrate said approvingly. "The taint you all possess allows the sharing of Memories from one generation to the next."

"Huh. Fancy that." Daveth drew his belt-knife and followed Milldrate's instructions. In for a silver, in for a crown, as his mum used to say.

The moment his forehead (right where the Tranquil were branded) touched the crystal, warmth and darkness overtook him.

…

The Fields of Grey

"_Daveth?"_

_ Duncan's voice was surprised, maybe even a little pissed, but that was nothing new whenever the Warden-Commander spoke to the thief. Daveth opened his eyes to see the bastard standing before him, looking about ten years younger and dressed in formal Warden-Commander's plate instead of the fancy silverite mail and leather he wore._

_ "Just when ya was thinkin' ya was dead an' rid of me," Daveth quipped. "So's… it really ya or some spirit lookin' like ya?"_

_ "It's me. I died at Ostagar… What happened? All I know is that Loghain never relieved us."_

_ "Fuckin' bastards – him an' Nate – left us all ta die. Was through the grace of Flemeth me an' Mara an' Jory an' Alistair survived."_

_ Duncan sighed. "Bastards. It's good some of you yet live. I don't suppose we got lucky and d'Antiva died too?"_

_ "Nope. Bastard's livin' an' we gotta work with him."_

_ "Fuck." Duncan punched his left hand with his right fist in anger. "Please tell me-"_

_ "Brosca told me I was Warden-Commander, probably 'cause everyone was doin' what I told them to. Well, except for d'Antiva, but he'll do his own damned thin' anyways."_

_ "At least _one_ of my plans went right," Duncan chuckled, which turned into outright laughter as Daveth stared at him._

_ "Whaddya mean by that?"_

_ "Did you think I was dragging you around to meet all the nobles and see how things were done for shits and giggles?"_

_ "Wouldn't put it past ya, ya old bastard."_

_ "Given the amount of grey you put in my hair during that last year, I'd've found less stressful ways to amuse myself was that the case. I was training you to take my place, Daveth."_

_ "Taint musta really fucked with yer head then, hey?" Daveth was secretly pleased though. He'd never admit it, not even to Duncan's ghost, but it was nice to know a reason for the old bastard pulling all the shit he had._

_ "Brytta said something along those lines once." Duncan sighed, running a hand through glossy black hair. "How… is she?"_

_ "Endrin carked it, Harrowmount an' Bhelen are goin' fer the throne, an' the Wardens are the only thin' keepin' the city from goin' nuts," Daveth reported grimly. "She's been droppin' hints that she wants my lot to sort it out an' put Bhelen on the throne."_

_ "Brytta wouldn't suggest such a thing unless the situation was truly dire…" Duncan sighed. "Has Alistair taken the crown?"_

_ "Nope. Anora's clingin' to it but at least they ain't goin' ta fight each other – openly – till Cloudsreach an' the Landsmeet." _

_ Duncan muttered something in Rivaini. "Of all the bloody times! Look… There's something I want you to tell Alistair. It's about his parents."_

_ "He's a bloody Theirin. That nose of his makes it obvious," Daveth began, only for Duncan to nod._

_ "Yes, I _know_ that. I fostered the boy with Eamon. But his mother _wasn't_ an elf-blooded servant. She was a Grey Warden named Fiona, an elven mage."_

_ "The Landsmeet will _love_ that," Daveth observed._

_ "No doubt. But Alistair _must_ become King. There are… reasons… why."_

_ "What, that Ellath'len shit?"_

_ "…Yes. According to the city elves, they have a prophecy about a King of combined elven and old royal blood who will unite the peoples. It's… surprisingly specific."_

_ "That's all very good, but I came ta ya fer advice on me own shit, Duncan. Here's what's going on…"_

_ Daveth outlined the situation, only to be interrupted by Duncan's furious tirades; it seemed like being dead had removed Duncan's restraint in expressing his opinion. Daveth had to admit that the guy was nearly as good a swearer as Mara; her bardic training gave her a better knack for putting words together._

_ Finally they were done and Duncan growled in frustration. "I never thought I'd be bloody grateful to that Ogre! I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I can tell you who to speak to…"_

_ Once he was done, the former Warden-Commander touched his forehead in a salute. "For what it's worth, Daveth, I'm proud of you. You might have been a pain in the arse but you were the son I never had."_

_ "Thanks…" Daveth was kind of lost for words. What did you say to something like that? "I'll… kill the archdemon for ya. And name me firstborn after ya… Awww fuck, forgot ta tell ya! Jory's missus popped out a boy an' they called him Duncan."_

_ Duncan blinked, like he was ready to cry, and then he smiled. "Tell them… Thank you. Now return, lad. If you stay here much longer, you'll be coming to the Fields sooner than you should!"_

_ Before Daveth could protest, he felt the grey mist surrounding him envelope him and send him back into darkness again…_

…

Gherlon's Gates, 15th Verimensis (Day)

"Hey Warden, want to see my Deep Roads?"

Jory ignored the persistent dwarven prostitute with the constant stench of starweed about her as he waited for Sigrun, one of the Orzammar Wardens, to drop off a package of lyrium for the mages. The perky little Duster was sanguine about the disasters which had befallen Orzammar, probably because she'd been assigned to the Legion of the Dead shortly after her Joining. "Nothing a redirected lava flow wouldn't fix," she joked. Jory _hoped_ she was joking.

He wasn't happy about smuggling things to and from the surface but Wardens did what they had to. At least he was able to correct some of the misunderstandings about the civil war in Ferelden and the idiots who believed Anora should be queen. He'd been able to send a letter to Helena in Highever to let her know he was alright…

"C'mon, Warden. I give a discount for your kind," the prostitute continued, oblivious to his disinterest. She grabbed his right leg and clung to it. "I bet a big boy like you has a big sword-"

"I am married!" Jory replied, trying to pry her off.

"What the wife doesn't know can't hurt her," the prostitute insisted. "I'm the right size to make your day, big boy, and you wouldn't even need to sit-"

"If you don't release my husband right bloody now, you little tart, I'll clobber you upside the head with a frying pan!"

"Helena?" Jory blurted, unable to believe that his wife was in Orzammar instead of Highever. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you from a whore," Helena replied tartly, giving the dwarf a death-glare that made the woman release Jory and slink away.

Much to his surprise, she wore a chainmail vest over practical canvas breeches and a tunic, Duncan tied to her back as always. She also wore a shortsword like she knew how to use it and carried a shortbow in her hand.

"I am glad to see you but Orzammar is… dangerous at the moment."

"I know. But it's nearly as dangerous to be a known Grey Warden relative at the moment," Helena replied grimly. "The Chantry's been asking questions about Kinloch Hold and the mages leaving, love… They've been using _Seekers._"

Jory gestured for her to take a seat as he couldn't leave his post. "They killed _children_, Helena. The templars killed the apprentices on their retreat because it was easier to do so than take them along and protect them in the foyer."

Helena's hands were shaking as she untied Duncan to suckle him. Thankfully, the boy was a placid, easygoing child… "Maker's breath… I heard there were lots of demons loose, but… those poor children."

"There's mage blood in both our families. What if Duncan becomes a mage like Oren? Should he be ripped away, screaming and begging by people who think he's evil incarnate, or fostered for a while until he can control his powers?" Irving and the surviving mages, plus Cullen, were already discussing alternate ways to structure the Circles.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, love. Only that the Chantry is pissed off, pardon my Orlesian." Helena sighed as she undid her vest and shirt to feed the babe. "I don't want them to call you and Daveth 'heretics', love."

"The Chantry has wanted to bring the Grey Wardens under their control for some while," spoke the detestable Rennio d'Antiva from behind them. Jory controlled his natural impulse to start, refusing to give the Black Griffin that satisfaction. "Now you have given them an excuse to unleash an Exalted March upon us."

"If they bloody think they could beat the Wardens in battle, they're fools," Jory retorted angrily.

"They would only need sway enough of the devout in our number to win," Rennio continued relentlessly. "There are more Andrastians than not in the Order, Ser Jory."

"And I suppose we should have let those children die?" Jory snapped back.

"A conflict between the Grey Wardens and the Chantry was inevitable as both have the influence to affect Thedas as a whole," Rennio said flatly. "Your fruitless compassion has forced the war to start at the worst possible time; we cannot fight the archdemon on our own and if the nations will not help us…"

"Well, I'd sooner die than be a heartless bastard like you," Jory retorted. "Now just… fuck off. You're not wanted here, d'Antiva. None of the Wardens here like you."

The Antivan's grey-black eyes narrowed. "If I had the luxury, I would go. Unfortunately, my own friends in Antiva would consider me a deserter if I left Ferelden now."

"You have friends? Here _I_ thought you had tools and obstacles," Jory pointed out.

"I would not consider witless fools like you and Daveth _friends_," Rennio countered.

"No. But you called your own foster daughter too stupid to live because she fought for what was right!"

"Mara, like all women, let sentiment rule her instead of her intelligence," Rennio replied. "I am… disappointed in her. And I blame the Couslands for ruining her."

"Sounds like they did the right thing in getting her away from you," Helena observed bitterly. "How can you be so… heartless?"

"Because the Blight won't be won by sentiment but through pragmatism," Rennio answered. "And you should speak more politely to your betters, wench."

Jory rose to his feet, unsheathing the Chasind flatblade from his back-scabbard, and said very softly, "Call my wife a 'wench' again, d'Antiva, and I will cut out your tongue."

"Your wife used to serve drinks and blowjobs in a Highever tavern, Ser Jory; I am simply pointing out what she is." Rennio smirked subtly. "I am sorry if you don't like uncomfortable truths, but I think you ought to leave the thinking to your superiors. Any man stupid enough to marry a tavern whore turned baker is not fit to lead."

Jory wasn't sure what it was about rogues that made them have such filthy insulting tongues, but even Daveth at his worst was a better man than Rennio at his best. He trembled with the urge to plunge his flatblade into d'Antiva's gut but only Brosca's revelations of why every Warden was needed kept him from doing so.

"And so you prove you lack conviction, Ser Jory. A greater man would have tried to kill me by now." Rennio smirked again. "I guess Flemeth's daughter was correct when she called your wife more of a man than you."

Jory allowed himself a savage smile as he felt the ancient Alamarri rage burn through his veins. The dwarves might be the first berserkers but the Alamarri had adopted the art as their own – and even though Jory preferred the tactics of a commander, he had more than a passing acquaintance with the power of battle rage. But he controlled it, kept it reined in, as he replied, "You only live because every Warden is needed, d'Antiva."

"I live because only I can help the Wardens survive this mess your idiocy – and yes, you were the chief architect of the idiocy to free the mages – got us into. _You_ only live because every warrior is needed. Be glad I haven't invoked the traditional punishment for a Warden who has put the Order at risk."

"Be glad I haven't cut your tongue out yet," Jory snarled.

Fortunately for the pair of them, Sigrun arrived with the lyrium. Jory sheathed his blade and silently vowed that he would see d'Antiva dealt with appropriately once he had the chance.

A Warden didn't need all of his body parts to fight a Blight, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Please remember that this story needs to be read concurrently with 'Queens and Hounds' to get the full picture.

…

**Chapter 6**

Chamber of the Assembly, Diamond Quarter, 16th Verimensis 9:31

They argued while the world burned. This was why Rennio despised the dwarves almost as much as he did the Dalish elves: idiots clinging to past glories and stories instead of changing with the times like humans did. He didn't much care who ruled the dwarves so long as someone confirmed the treaty and they could prepare to fight the Blight.

The queer fury which had aroused at the archdemon's first cry simmered constantly in his blood, eroding his ability to set his emotions aside and think of things with a Grandmaster's cold clarity and a Gamesmaster's canniness. Once he could have easily persuaded Daveth to leave the mages to their fate but now he found it hard to find the words necessary, preferring to focus on the ruthless pragmatism needed to bring this Blight to a close. His words were sharper, more direct, speaking the truths no one wanted to hear or welcome. And so he found himself ignored and derided by those who ought to be in awe of him and his legend.

To distract himself from the incessant bickering of the deshyrs, he unfolded the parchment sent by Roberto in Denerim four days ago and allowed himself another sigh of relief. Mara had _finally_ developed some common sense… and secured the Theirin line, though it wouldn't be entirely so until she whelped. Rennio hated children but he understood the dynastic necessity of them. He just hoped this bout of sensible thinking continued until the end of the Blight. Knowing Mara and her flighty nature, encouraged by Eleanor and that vapid cow Sofia della Ferrana, he doubted it. But hope was all he had these days at times.

"It's going to take nothing short of Branka's word to get these idiots to pay attention to the darkspawn," Trian Aeducan, Warden-Second to the pragmatic but so very coarse Brytta Brosca, remarked to the cheerful little Duster named Sigrun.

"The Legion's been scouting for her location," the Warden-Legionnaire reported; she'd been intending to join the Legion of the Dead when Duncan swept her up along with Brytta and some other casteless who died in the Joining… And when she survived the process of becoming a Grey Warden, she promptly enlisted and so wore a Legionnaire's armour instead of Grey Warden Scout leathers.

Rennio sighed, this time in frustration. Duncan had focused on recruiting rogues of the lowest sort, not the elite like Nathanial Howe (such as he was), and now the Warden-Commanders of two critical garrisons were… _thugs._ He'd taken the opportunity to watch Brytta fight in a Glory Proving (she apparently entered all the bloody time to rub her Warden-Commander status in the Noble and Warrior Castes' faces) and winced at how _ugly_ it was. No grace, no skill, just an undisciplined whirlwind of coarse blows that left opponents bleeding in the dust.

And to think she and Duncan had been lovers. Rennio supposed that scum attracted slime.

It took him a moment to recall Branka: the dwarves' only live Paragon because she found some kind of smokeless coal or something. If they didn't live underground, they wouldn't have the breathing problems they did! Still, if she could be found and turned towards their course…

There were advantages to either Bhelen or Harrowmount ruling. One was a true reformer that the dwarves could use but lacked the subtlety and showmanship that made a Gamesmaster; the other was noble and respected but would be ruled by the elitist would-be Gamesmaster Sereda Aeducan.

Rennio sighed for the umpteenth time. It was going to be a long few months in Orzammar, it seemed…

…

Gherlen's Gates, Frostback Mountains, 16th Verimensis

Justice was… discontent.

In the Fade, thought and motion were one, time non-existent. To think was to do, to do was to be complete. But in the world of flesh, things were very different indeed. Bodies were cumbersome meaty things that never performed as quickly as they ought to… And Justice didn't even want to _think_ about the processes of eating and drinking and… well… the natural follow-throughs. It was disgusting on every level.

But even bodily fluids were not as irritating as _time._ It took _time _to send messages and array allies against the Chantry and its tyranny. It took _time_ to choose a King and collect the treaty to fight the darkspawn. It took _time_ to find and correct every injustice in this wretched place.

It took _time_ to understand the people he was allied with. Very few of them were wholly just or unjust; Jory was the closest to being a spirit of Virtue and Rennio the closest to being a demon made flesh. Justice wondered if the Wardens knew that the Antivan was slowly going insane as the taint ate him from the inside out.

Irving counselled patience; he sounded like Faith, a spirit who had the habit of irritating Justice whenever they left. Rumour had it, just before Justice was trapped in this body of flesh, Faith had done the unthinkable and possessed a mage willingly. She'd always hovered a bit too close to the mage that the Wardens called Wynne…

But rumours were trickling in from Orlais through the Mages' Collective that the Divine was beseeching the Empress to 'intervene' in Ferelden to stop the 'mage heresy' from spreading. Either the woman was senile or stupid to believe that doing an 'Exalted March' during a Blight was a good idea…

Justice sighed. He wanted things done _now_. But things couldn't happen _now_.

Why did _time_ have to be such a bother?

…

Wardens' Barracks, Diamond Quarter, 16th Verimensis

"Tell the Divine to kiss my dusty arse."

What Brytta Brosca lacked in tact and diplomacy, she certainly made up for in entertainment value, Morrigan reflected as she tilted her long, serpentine head with its ugly razor-toothed maw to better eavesdrop on the Warden-Commander of Orzammar. The dwarven woman had the sort of bold confidence Morrigan dearly wished she had even as she concealed her insecurities behind a façade of cool arrogance.

Brother Berkel, a surface dwarf with less wit than most of his canny kind, glowered at the auburn-haired Duster. "Even if you don't believe in the Maker, surely you know that to send such a message to the Divine is… tactless. Even by _your_ standards. All we're asking is that the Grey Wardens hand over the rebel mages and renegade templar to the Orlesian Chantry-"

"Those 'rebels' have been tending Dusters for free while your precious congregation's been too damned scared to even step foot inside Dust Town," Brosca retorted flatly. "That 'renegade templar' has managed to help instil something resembling law and order in Gherlen's Gates. These are 'miracles', as you surfacers call them, I can believe in instead of your tales about parting seas and god's wives."

"Your actions reflect poorly on the Grey during a critical time," Berkel warned. "You could face censure from the First Warden himself."

"Herself… And she's Dalish. Good luck getting her to agree with your Chantry," Brytta drawled sardonically. "Besides, the Grey didn't give shelter to the mages beyond the three we conscripted. The Assembly did. If you have an issue, go to them."

"I will," Berkel snapped before leaving in a huff. Brytta gave his retreating back the upraised middle finger which seemed to be a universal gesture of contempt, then looked to the side.

"You can come out, witch."

Morrigan assumed her human form with the ease of long practice, glad to be free of such an odious shape. "Not that I mourn to see the zealots of the Chantry discomforted, but would it not be wiser to avoid openly antagonising them during a Blight?"

Brytta sighed as she gestured to the witch to take a seat at her low desk; Morrigan sat down on the comfortable cushions reserved for human guests. "This showdown's been a long time coming," she admitted as she poured Morrigan a thimble-sized cup of the sweet, fruity Valenta Red ale she preferred. "There's two or three organisations which span Thedas… and only _one_ of them is not trying to convert the people."

"'Twould perhaps be best to pick a better time to start the… showdown?" Morrigan asked as she gingerly sipped the delicious but potent alcohol.

"There's never going to be a good time. But for four Blights the Grey Wardens have killed the archdemon and then gotten treated like shit in between the rising of the darkspawn because we had fuck all to do. Couple of First Wardens ago, it was decided that needed to be changed." Brosca drank heartily from her much larger tankard. "We're the one organisation which is at least tolerated by the major powers of Thedas – even the qunari will give us the time of day. We are capable of rapid mobilisation and communication – and we have enough manpower, good manpower, to keep everyone from openly attacking us. We're also utterly neutral politically – well, _officially_ – and so in Orlais and Antiva, the Wardens often host peace conferences and provide diplomatic security and escorts."

Morrigan took a biggish mouth of ale as she began to perceive the shape of a plan so subtle that even her ally Mara probably would have missed it. "That is… d'Antiva's great work then?"

Brytta sighed. "Yes and no. He believes in a united Thedas… but he believes in maintaining the status quo. Very conservative and something of a prick, our Black Griffin. But since our new First Warden came to power, a lot more non-Andrasteans have been promoted… And given that she's a Dalish Keeper, she'd be an abomination in the eyes of the Chantry."

"And so she would… what? Start a war during a Blight?"

"Grey Wardens are neutral but the shit with the mages has been steadily getting worse over the past two decades or so I'm told. I've been a Warden for ten years but Warden-Commander here for only five." Brytta sighed again into her ale. "Honestly, I'm shit at this political stuff. I know scum, I know how to handle scum, and I'm good at killing darkspawn. I leave the noble stuff to Trian."

"Can he be trusted? You are at odds politically."

"My sister's an Aeducan now she popped out a kid. He'll do the right thing by her even if he thinks Bhelen's a little conniving shit and I think Harrowmount's a puppet with Sereda's hand up his arse," Brytta observed wryly. "In the greater scheme of things, neither King will make the Blight worse. Just so long as we have _someone_ to authorise that fucking treaty…"

"Forgive me, but why are you telling me this when I am no Warden?" Morrigan asked curiously.

"Because Daveth has a big mouth and you can keep secrets," Brosca replied dryly. "And my best friend taught me to always keep a knife hidden in _both_ boots. I'm trusting you to know when d'Antiva's too far gone in the taint and needs to be put down… and to kill whomever needs to die so this Blight can be stopped."

"You know about d'Antiva?"

"Old Wardens know when someone's ready for their Calling. I'll probably be due in a year or five because I was never fed right as a nuglet and I drink too much." Brytta's mouth quirked wryly. "Best thing would be to live long enough to see Loghain's head on a platter and then kill the archdemon as a final fuck you to the Noble Caste."

"You know a Grey Warden must…?"

"Must die to kill an archdemon? Yeah, of course I do." Again, that wry quirk of the lips that was almost a smile. "All that I am came from Duncan… and when he needed me the most, I wasn't there. 'Least I can do for him is bring down that murdering prick and the big-arse lizard that started all of this mess."

"It all comes back to this one man, doesn't it?" Morrigan mused aloud. "He is on Daveth's mind and lips constantly."

"Lava will freeze before that little shit admits that Duncan was the closest thing he ever had to a father," Brytta said sardonically. "As for me… He was the love of my life and I walked away from him to become a Warden-Commander."

"He sounds like a most impressive man." Morrigan decided she needed to know more about the man who'd shaped the two most pivotal Wardens in this part of Thedas and even had an effect on Jory.

"He was… If you're not in a hurry, I got a tale or two I could tell you about him…" It was obvious Brytta was a) drunk and b) wanting to talk about her emotional burdens. It wouldn't cost Morrigan anything to listen to her and she'd gain useful information from it.

And since dwarves tended to keep on pouring ale whilst they talked, she could have some more of this delicious Valenta Red…


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Thanks for reading/reviewing/whatever. I'm going to skip the Jarvia part of Paragon because, well, does anyone really see Brytta letting someone who's a big threat to her people live? Also, quick chapter since I need to get back to this story. I apologise for the long time between updates, had to get a Skyrim plot bunny out of my head.

…

**Chapter 7**

Gherlen's Gates, 18th Verimensis 9:31 (Morning)

"A'right, people, I got a plan."

In a week of arriving in Orzammar, the mages had transformed the rickety warehouse given to them by the Assembly into a comfortable base of operations through bartering their unique skills for material goods. It seemed that while Irving was an Aequitarian (like Wynne, remaining in Denerim with Princess Mara), both Neria and Daylen were Lucrosians, dedicated to securing mage influence through money and politics. Anders, so intent on securing his personal freedom, was unaligned while Justice didn't see the point of factions when mages needed TO BE FREED NOW! Bethany sympathised with the newly embodied spirit, she really did, and was trying to explain to him what various things (like time) were so she could help him adapt.

Warden-Commander Daveth had been kind enough to keep them apprised of the situation in the city and now had come topside to discuss his ultimate plan for solving the succession crisis in Orzammar with the mages. Bethany had to admit she was a bit taken with his roguish charm, even if he only had eyes for Morrigan. Bethany couldn't blame the marsh man for preferring the free-spirited apostate over… well… her.

"Slandering Harrowmount to Dace and Helmi was unjust," Justice told the olive-skinned rogue flatly.

"Who said it _was_ slander?" Daveth retorted. "Given that Princess Sereda had discussed pullin' such a deal with her second Gorim."

"But nothing was in writing!" Justice protested. "And then you had Jory fight in Harrowmount's name!"

"It's called coverin' me arse," Daveth told the spirit. "Brosca wants Bhelen in charge an' Trian wants Harrowmount as King but his sister dead. Both of them are expectin' me ta jump their way."

"Sigrun told me that Brytta and Rennio had reached an agreement where we solve her problems and she'll help solve ours," Jory reported quietly, his voice troubled. "I respect Warden-Commander Brosca, but despite her intelligence and drive, she has the political subtlety of a bronto in a porcelain shop."

"That's bein' tactful," Daveth agreed wryly.

"She is a formidable woman, but a good one," Irving agreed. "She's been supplying us with lyrium for 'keeping the peace up here'. Templar-grade, even."

The elder mage sighed and stroked his beard. "Wynne has sent me a mage-message. She's going to be staying with Mara Theirin because at the moment, that girl is the second-most important thing in Ferelden behind the Wardens. The Runaway Wife has also promised to try and do what she can to disrupt the Orlesian influence at the moment because she suspects that the Empire is trying to play the Game of Princes at the worst possible time."

"An' the Orlesians an' the Chantry go hand-in-hand like a whore leadin' a priest to the bedroom," Daveth observed dryly. "Up ta yas which one is which."

Bethany grinned at the Warden-Commander. Daveth, believe it or not, was surprisingly witty and intelligent despite his rough exterior. Handsome too, but so very, very uninterested…

"Your plan?" Morrigan asked boredly.

"Me, Anders, Brytta's mate Sigrun an' a bloke called Oghren are goin' ta the Deep Roads ta track the Paragon Branka," the Warden-Commander announced. "We need her vote. It's as simple as that."

"True… I guess I will be in charge of the Fereldan Wardens then?" Jory asked calmly.

"'Course ya are. You're a stuffy sonuvabitch but ya're honourable an' yer missus can think fer the pair of ya." Daveth grinned. "An' Justice, ya're comin' because if I leave ya behind, somethin' will go boom at the worst time. Ya spirits need ta learn a bit of patience."

The elven mage sighed but bowed his head. "You are… correct. But will the mages be-?"

"They have me," Bethany announced quietly. "And Morrigan, if she'll stand with us. I am the most powerful Elemental mage here."

"She's correct. I'm more Primal, myself, and with Neria to support us with Creation and Entropy, we should be fine," Irving replied, eyes hard as steel. "Justice, of course, is an absolute genius with the Spirit school."

Morrigan sighed. "I had hoped-"

"Morrigan is returnin' ta Denerim. Mara says she needs a shapeshiftin' mage 'cause the kids are too young," Daveth announced. "Of course, if that's fine with ya, Morrigan?"

"It is… not. But I know that Mara will need eyes and ears which cannot be traced as she is confined to a wing in the Palace. 'Tis _such_ a pity a bear could not simply devour this Anora and have done with it."

Bethany smiled smugly. She was glad to see the Witch go; despite the other apostate teaching her something of shapeshifting, she'd repeatedly referred to her as soft and useless. That's alright; better soft and pretty instead of being a hag-in-training with bad hair and worse modesty-

"I don't want ya ta go. But I ain't got a choice. I… already extracted a price from Mara fer this. If I die, she's ta pass on a message ta the Wardens in the Free Marches callin' fer their aid. An' they'll come, hell or high water, an' they won't stop for niceties like borders or national sovereignty. Stroud's implacable – or so Duncan always said."

"Why do I have the bad feeling that if the Orlesians invade again, it will be the Grey Wardens who lead them?" Irving asked, expression grim.

"Riordan, Duncan's old buddy won't – but he's only a Senior Warden in one city. Thierry duPond likely will an' he's reportedly got his head so far up the Empress' slit he never sees daylight." Daveth smirked. "Brytta's description, by the way."

"What about d'Antiva?" Jory asked. "Perhaps you could take him with you?"

Daveth shook his head. "I'm sore tempted… But just let him think he's in charge-"

"He called my wife a whore and I told him if he spoke so to her again, I'd cut out his tongue."

The half-Chasind thief smirked. "Reckon yer missus could stan' bein' insulted again fer a good cause?"

Much to Bethany's surprise, the straitlaced Jory grinned savagely. "I'll take that as permission. I'll not kill him… but if he speaks so to my wife – or anyone else for that matter…"

"He don't need his tongue ta kill darkspawn. Reckon Milady Mara might be a bit offended, but after jammin' a knife through Catina Seforzina, reckon she won't be in a position ta argue."

"D'Antiva is said to be one of the most intelligent and consummate politicians on Thedas," Irving said, sounding troubled. "But he seems to be… mentally degrading."

"He's an old Warden. We tend ta go kooky in our old age an' it's when we know it's time ta go kill darkspawn until we're dead," Daveth replied grimly.

"Perhaps… Or perhaps he is playing a game. I'll watch him closely."

"Bless ya, Irvin'. Well, we better go. Take care an' don't leave Gherlen's Gates unless it's for Orzammar. Ya don't need ta be fallin' inta Chantry hands."

It was then and there Bethany decided she was in love with Daveth. Now all she had to do was find a way to impress him while Morrigan was away…

…

Orzammar Deep Roads Entrance, 18th Verimensis (Noon)

"Watch your back out there. The archdemon can look for you, you know."

Brytta delivered that warning to Daveth, who'd finally decided to take a proactive approach to the crisis and get the one woman who could solve it. Truth be told she'd miss him a bit; he was like the poor man's version of Duncan.

Sigrun was her best Deep Roads scout… and Oghren, the lousy drunk, was Branka's hubby so he'd know what to look for. Anders was said to be a good healing mage, so the Warden-Commander had a good team with him.

Truth be told, she was glad Morrigan was heading out to Denerim. From what she'd heard about Rennio's foster daughter, that girl was steel and silk in a good way… and having someone who knew the Wardens' ultimate intentions influencing a potential Gamesmistress was a good thing.

Rennio was playing at something. His 'mental deterioration' was just a bit too textbook Calling for her liking. That he was firmly on the Chantry's side (officially) was obvious; she played at not giving a shit about anything beyond the Blight, Orzammar and the Wardens – and was learning all sorts of useful shit.

Brytta might have the political subtlety of a bronto in a porcelain shop (she liked Jory because he was honest) but she'd grown up learning the ways of a man from her sister Rica… and despite d'Antiva's preference for men, even a light-stepper like him appreciated someone being impressed by his experience. So Brosca acted impressed (and truth be told, the guy knew what he was talking about) and learned more than he'd ever intended to tell her.

Thankfully Trian was on her side when it came to sending Daveth to the Deep Roads… The Diamond Quarter garrison was (mostly) staying out of politics and everyone had agreed to lay off the obvious stuff until Branka was returned. Though Brytta preferred Bhelen for obvious reasons, she didn't really care at this point who became King. Not when time was running out for everyone.

"Watch yours too," Sigrun told her softly. "Trian won't do anything, but-"

"I'll be fine," Brytta lied to one of her oldest friends.

"Nugshit, I can sense-"

"I'll live long enough to see this through, I promise."

"Dammit, you've only been a Warden for-"

"I lived hard, Warden-Scout. I never expected to live as long as Duncan and the others." Brytta smiled and clasped her friend's hand. "If I don't make it… Finish this."

Daveth's eyes widened as Sigrun nodded sadly. "You're-"

"In the first stages of my Calling. I've probably got six months at most. So you'd better hurry it up, salroka, because there's a giant lizard out there with my name on him."

Daveth smiled, the expression tinged with sorrow. "If Duncan was a dad ta me, Brosca, guess you was the ma."

"Fuck you. I don't need sentimentality," Brytta replied, though she felt secretly touched the rogue felt that way about her. If she and Duncan had ever had kids, probably would have had a spawn like Daveth.

"Yeah, well, fuck you too. Be back soon." And with those cavalier words, the Warden-Commander plunged into the darkness in search of a crazy chick who was probably dead.

Brytta sighed and knuckled her eyes. She might be dying, but she wasn't dead yet, so there was hope. And she'd hold onto it as long as she could.

…

_Once I loved a man with skin like mabari's eye,_

_Swore I would love him 'til the day that we both died,_

_But deep the distance between the Stone and the Sky,_

_Deeper the distance between his need and my pride._

_Now he's gone, betrayed by one no friend to the Grey,_

_I swear before Stone that his death won't be in vain,_

_I'll make that blasted winged lizard my rightful prey,_

_For now I'm dying – I want to see him again._

_For deeper than the Stone and higher than the Sky,_

_Runs the duty that we, the Grey Wardens, must bear._

_Soon it will be this old tired Duster's turn to die –_

_I can't choose the when but by the Stone I'll choose where!_

-From the _Annals of the Grey Wardens of the Fifth Blight_, written by Master Shaper Milldrate Ivo and attributed to the Paragon Brytta Brosca and said to be alluding to her rumoured romance with the Fereldan Warden-Commander Duncan.

(Scrawled in a margin: There is no way Brytta would have fucked a human. Everyone knows Leske was her one true love!)

(Written neatly in the other margin: The Memories of the Grey Wardens are quite emphatic on the fact that Brytta and Duncan were romantically linked until she chose to take the post of Warden-Commander of Orzammar.)

(Written above the poem: I love it when Shapers have fights in books.)

(Written below the poem: Me too. It's like watching drunk nugs fight.)


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Because I was writing half-asleep and recovering from lack of power for over eight hours due to floods in my home state, I made a mistake or two in the last chapter. The Deep Roads Squad is Daveth, Oghren, Anders, Justice and Sigrun plus poor old Fluffy, who I keep on forgetting. I'm also going to be skipping through the Deep Roads mission because this isn't a playthrough fanfic but an AU one. I also forgot Daylen. *facepalm*

…

**Chapter 8**

Caridin's Cross, 21st Verimensis 9:31

"…It took us two years to find traces of Branka and you locate signs of her in two hours."

Sigrun the Legionnaire Scout sounded astonished as Daveth rose to his feet after examining the remnants of a large campsite in the middle of the ancient crossroads. Close by lay the stripped corpses of three mercenaries (how insulting to have such a low number!), sent by Harrowmount (in reality Sereda Aeducan) to stop the Warden-Commander.

"I've had three days ta get used ta the Deep Roads, otherwise woulda taken me quicker," Daveth told her cheerfully. "I ain't the greatest pickpocket – but don't tell Jory that, gotta reputation ta maintain – but Duncan picked me, in part, because I can Chasind cold-track."

"And you can't get a trail colder than Branka's unless she's dead," Sigrun agreed with a grin. "I don't know what Chasind cold-tracking is, but I'll take your word for it, Warden-Commander."

"I still need ta know how the Deep Roads work, love; this's me future, so's I'll need ta know how ta survive in here…" Daveth looked at the other Wardens. "All of us will."

Anders nodded with a sigh and Justice folded his arms. "How does this help the mages?" he asked.

"If we make a new King, that King's gonna owe us. Pick the right King… Reckon might talk him inta lettin' the mages stay in Orzammar itself. Got access ta lyrium, ya help 'em push back the darkspawn an' reclaim the thaigs… Ya can say fuck ya ta the Chantry."

The spirit bowed his head with a growl. "It comes down to _time_ again," he said bitterly. "When will it be _time_ to act?"

"When there's a King in Orzammar," Daveth promised. "Now let's make use of this camp an' get some rest. Tomorrow's goin' ta be a hard day."

…

It turned out to be several hard weeks as they fought their way through Ortan Thaig to Bownammar and beyond. Sigrun had talked her commander Kardol into taking the remnants of his squad with them to clear our Bownammar; a good thing as Laryn the Broodmother had proven to be a vicious bitch with more tentacles than one of Zev's more perverted books.

(He only knew about the book because he'd seen a naked woman picture in it and just wanted to see if it was once of them erotic books he'd heard about! It was… and so much more… He could never eat squid again.)

Daveth pulled his mind from Antivan pornography as he looked at the narrow passage which led from the outskirts of Bownammar to what was presumably the Anvil of the Void. He missed Morrigan more than he'd thought he would; the witch's acerbic wit, so similar to his own sarcasm, had been an unlikely balm in difficult times.

But he a) had an embarrassment of riches when it came to mages and b) while Wynne was a great healer, she was nowhere near the battle-mage Morrigan was… and the witch's shapeshifting would be more use in Denerim than in the Deep Roads.

At least Daylen Amell was now Brytta's responsibility; she'd taken on the Warden-Mage using her authority as Commander and assured Daveth if worst came to worst, she'd conscript all the mages and to hell with the Chantry.

Daveth sighed as he realised all this pondering was to distract himself from the sight of the archdemon flying through the ledge just before Bownammar. Seeing the enemy he, Jory and the others would have to defeat… It was sobering.

"So that is the archdemon," Justice had said as the beast flew away. "I understand now why _time_ is so important in this."

Daveth had to be grateful for small victories, he supposed.

The Warden-Commander took a deep breath and walked into that narrow passage.

…

The Anvil of the Void, 24th Verimensis

Branka was crazier than a loon… but Maker help him, she was also right.

"We got no choice," Daveth said unhappily. "We need them golems."

"So, Grey Warden, will you drag the unwilling victims to the Anvil and hold them down as they scream?" Caridin asked, his metallic voice tight with outrage.

"Who said they'd be unwillin'?" Daveth retorted. "I intend to make golems outta Wardens an' Legion of the Dead who are willin'."

"It might start in such a way but it will end otherwise," Caridin chided. "I know your Order is pragmatic, but surely there must be limits?"

"I saw the motherfuckin' _archdemon_ on the way here, Caridin," Daveth countered. "Most of the Fereldan Wardens are dead… an' Brosca will have trouble bringin' her people to our kingdom because the Landsmeet will have a shit fit. So I need them fuckin' golems… So one side, metal man."

"Daveth…" Justice began. "What if Caridin speaks the truth? It would be unjust to-"

"That big-arse dragon you saw don't give a shit about justice or right an' wrong. It wins, there'll be nothin' but darkspawn." Daveth ran his hands through his hair, noting that it needed cutting. "If Duncan an' me fellow Wardens wasn't dead, wouldn't need this. I don't fuckin' like it. But I gotta do it."

"Thank you, Warden," Branka rasped. "Now give me the secrets of the Anvil, Caridin!"

"I will give you _nothing._" Caridin's body flared with electricity. "Warden, I cannot allow this… this madwoman to have the Anvil's power! Your argument I can understand… but I cannot let her have it!"

A fight was about to go down and Daveth grabbed a double-handful of greasy hair in frustration. "Fuck," he cursed softly. Caridin was right… Dammit.

Anders and Sigrun looked at each other as Oghren bellowed something drunk and indecipherable. "Both sides have a point," the mage said quietly. "So… why not let the Wardens have the Anvil, Caridin?"

"You mean your Order would keep it for themselves…?" Caridin asked musingly.

"They don't have the people who know how to use it!" Branka snapped.

"That is true, Branka. For what it is worth, you are a smith equal to me," Caridin replied regretfully. "It is a shame your obsession has twisted your brilliance."

"She is crazier than a rabid nug," Sigrun observed cheerfully, "But she's also right. So… let's conscript her!"

"Can you conscript a Paragon?" Oghren said in between belches.

"We can only find out," Daveth observed.

"There is a certain poetic justice to it," Justice agreed.

Branka went red with rage. "Are you fucking kidding-?"

"You can play with the Anvil, no one will expect you to be a noble no more, an' we can make sure you have volunteers an' folks sentenced ta death," Daveth reassured her.

"I could just kill you and-"

"We have mages an' can get the entire Smith Caste here. We don't actually need ya; ya just make it easier for us," Daveth retorted. "Now, ya goin' ta play nice or will I have ta kill ya?"

"Branka… Listen to him. Please." Oghren was practically begging. "I know I'm a shit husband but I don't want you to die."

There was a long tense silence as everyone awaited Branka's decision with bated breath. Finally, she nodded reluctantly. "Very well. I will join the Wardens if Caridin reveals his secrets."

"…Very well," Caridin sighed. "It seems I will never atone for my sins in making this monstrous weapon. But I cannot deny the Grey Wardens' need."

Daveth sighed with relief. After this shit, the election of a King in Orzammar would be a cakewalk…

…

Diamond Quarter, Orzammar, Wintersend 9:31

"Oh, thank the Ancestors you've returned!"

In the two or so weeks Daveth and friends had been gone, Trian Aeducan seemed to have aged a couple decades. The muscular dwarf looked worn and beaten in his heavy Warden plate, actual grey visible in his messily braided ash-blond beard, as he met Daveth at the gates of the Diamond Quarter.

"Nice crown," the Prince said flatly. "I hope it was worth the cost."

Daveth, who was tired from hours of walking and blinking at the light still, forced himself to take a closer look at the Wardens who'd stayed. Daylen Amell looked haggard and in need of a shave… and Maker's hairy balls, was that an ancient-looking _Riordan_ in the background? "I've missed a lot, haven't I?"

"You have indeed," Daylen said grimly. "We need to hurry to the Chamber of the Assembly. Sereda Aeducan's called a vote."

"Fuck!" Daveth cursed as he forced himself into a run.

…

"We must respect the topsiders' traditions as we do our own," Harrowmount was saying as Daveth walked into the Chamber, Anders, Sigrun and the other Wardens in tow. "And then means handing the mages back to Orlais."

"They were never Orlesian to begin with… and the same Chantry which imprisons them is currently besieging our gates," Bhelen retorted. "If they break through, they'll kill us all."

"The Divine's emissary has promised we will be left in peace if we hand over the-"

"The Chantry desires the conversion of all peoples to its creed. They will use fire and sword against you… as they did us…" Irving quavered from a visitor's chair. "If you think it will save your people, we will go… But I don't see the Orlesians packing up and leaving when they've got a chance to crush the 'heathens' here.

"We will prevail against an Exalted March!" bellowed one of Harrowmount's supporters.

"Don't make me laugh. We barely survive the darkspawn. An Exalted March will just rip right through us," Branka rasped as she removed her Warden's helmet.

"Paragon!" Sereda Aeducan rose to her feet, all lush curves and silk that hid a heart blacker than Nate Howe's, and opened her arms in welcome. "The Warden-Commander of Ferelden has done as he was asked to do and-"

"Where's Brosca?" Branka demanded. "She's the only one of you sad sacks of nugshit with any common sense."

Sereda assumed an expression of grave sorrow as several deshyrs gasped with outrage at the Paragon's insult. "The Warden-Commander of Orzammar died in a group Proving last week."

"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!" Daveth yelled. "She-She can't be fuckin' dead. She's gotta see Loghain's head on a platter an' that fuckin' archdemon dead."

Bhelen's expression of sorrow was somewhat more real – but then, Bryt was marriage kin to him. "She was stabbed in the back during a Warden versus Legion match in the Proving," he said bitterly.

"Was… Ya fuckin' know the cu-"

"The melee was too chaotic to find out who wielded the blade," Sereda interrupted with almost-sincere regret. "It wouldn't surprise me if it was one of her old Carta buddies in the Wardens. Some people hold grudges, after all."

People's expressions were like tracks: some things were obvious, but it was the tiny signs which told Daveth the most. And he knew the tell-tales of a liar, thanks to the teaching he'd gotten from his spy buddies.

"Branka," he said clearly, looking at the Paragon. "Reckon we got our first golem volunteer. Brytta's people were fanatically loyal to her… So's must've been one of Sereda's supporters in the Wardens – if even a Warden did the stabbin'."

"I don't much like either of you," Branka said, looking between the stunned Harrowmount and silently furious Bhelen. "I don't much like any of you. I didn't even really like Brosca but for the fact she actually supported me and my cause when the rest of you thought me insane."

"But to you falls the decision of a new King," Steward Bandelor pointed out carefully.

"Indeed. But now I am a Grey Warden… and so I must hand the decision over to my Commander Daveth."

"Fuck you, Branka," the thief told the Paragon in something resembling a pleasant tone.

"No, thank you. You might bathe more than Oghren but you're not much brighter."

Daveth took a deep breath as the weight of a nation's future crashed on his shoulders. He supposed he ought to think of tradition, the Wardens' place, and that sort of thing… But fuck it. He was a simple man. For him the world was friends versus enemies, those who helped him and those who hindered…

"Bhelen, you're King. Brosca was kinda like a mum ta me like Duncan was me dad. An' ya think the mages should come in. So yeah… You're King."

The Assembly erupted into a furore as Daveth collapsed, exhausted beyond even a Warden's endurance.

…

Gherlen's Gates: Orlesian Side

Rennio hated Orlesians. Maybe not as much as Fereldans and with far less cause – but he hated their overly ostentatious style and pointless decadence. They added unnecessary flourishes and complications to a Game which was, at its heart, the simplest thing of all: power. Power didn't need frills and gilding, it didn't need trumpets and paeans of praise… The best display of power was the iron fist in a velvet glove.

But it was good to be out in the sunlight, even if it was on the Orlesian side of Gherlen's Gates and dealing with Thierry duPond, the Empress' fifth cousin and Warden-Commander of Orlais. The man's Warden plate was ridiculously embellished in the Orlesian style with more open holes in its defence than a whorehouse full of naked strumpets. Rennio looked over at the Senior Wardens of Orlais and refrained from sighing; only Riordan, newly returned from Orzammar with the news of Daveth's mission, was anything remotely resembling a threat.

"It is not our place to interfere in political matters. Daveth's case was extraordinary in that his subordinate, who could vote, handed the decision over to him." Rennio kept his voice calm despite the frustration he felt with the Paragon's fickleness. All that careful planning gone for naught because of Branka's temperamental nature.

"The dwarves are refusing to hand over the mages. They must do so or be forced to!" Thierry decreed. "Chantry law demands it!"

"The dwarves do not recognise Chantry law so it does not apply," Rennio said with far more patience in his tone than he actually felt. "We are in the middle of a Blight and you travel with an Exalted March?"

"I travel with the vanguard of a new and revitalised Orlesian Empire," Thierry replied. "The Blight needs to be defeated by a united force."

"And so you will repeat the invasion of Ferelden and throw in an Exalted March on top of that," Rennio observed with some scorn.

"Invasion? We will be welcomed with open arms by the Fereldan nobility. We have spent three decades civilising them through song and luxury; this time, we will recognise all loyal nobility's titles and encourage intermarriage between them and Orlesian nobility," Thierry assured the Prince of Crows. "We've learned from Meghren and Florian's mistakes, d'Antiva."

"Has the First Warden commanded this?" Rennio asked carefully. The answer would decide his response.

"The First Warden is a Dalish bitch who will soon be removed," Thierry replied carelessly. "I am hoping to take-"

"Wrong answer," Rennio observed as he drove Love up into the Warden-Commander's gut through that flimsy ornate plate. "By my authority as Black Griffin, I execute you for treason against the Grey Wardens."

Predictably one of the other Senior Wardens drew his sword, only to fall with a scream as Hate protruded from his helmet slit. Just as predictably Riordan joined in, standing with Rennio as the meeting descended into chaos.

It was twelve fully armoured men and women against two lightly armoured rogues… Rennio was almost insulted by the lack of a challenge. Riordan's handpicked men had been more worthy than these so-called Senior Wardens.

He retrieved Love and Hate, spinning around and kneeing a hapless elf in the groin with a spike that protruded from his right poleyn and then elbowing a human with his left couter-spike in the throat as he finished turning. A dual-bladed sweep took out another two Senior Wardens, thrice-quenched dragonbone cutting through red steel like a knife through cheese, and then he rolled forward to avoid the over-shoulder slash of a greatsword-wielding Chevalier. He rose to his feet and flung both daggers into the throats of two more as Riordan took advantage of the chaos to finish off or backstab their opponents. His technique was crude but effective, as Rennio will knew.

It was over in a laughably brief time, Riordan and Rennio looking at each other as they panted with exertion amidst the bodies of their former comrades. "Good to see you're back," the Orlesian rogue complimented as he wiped off his daggers and sheathed them, turning away from Rennio. "I was worried the Calling had kicked in."

"I never left," Rennio responded as he lunged, having picked up Thierry's sword.

"What-" Riordan coughed as the ornate longsword, decorated with the sun-and-lion of Orlais, protruded from his gut.

"I am the Prince of Crows. Your actions ruined my plans…" Rennio twisted the blade he'd shoved into Riordan's lower back. He'd arranged the fight so perfectly that it would look like Thierry had murdered Riordan and then been executed by Rennio. "You and Duncan and Brosca should have let me arrange things. A lot less suffering would have occurred."

"D'Antiva… _Rien d'Andraste vous au nul…_" Riordan cursed as bloody foam bubbled from his lips.

"Send my regards to Duncan and Brytta in the Fields of Grey. And be grateful I spared all three of you the Calling."

Riordan slumped forward and then fell over onto his left side. The Black Griffin wiped his gauntlets on Thierry's grand blue cape before turning away to help himself to supplies and a horse.

It would be a long ride to Denerim; he had to beat that fool Daveth there. His daughter had gone for too long without supervision…


	9. Chapter 9

Note: Thanks for reading! For the sake of the story, Honnleath is between Haven and Orzammar. And I'm bringing in companions/NPCs where I think they should fit… or where the plot nugs tell me. Some will be prominent… Others won't be.

I'm also pro-Bhelen, so I tend to make the guy a little nicer.

…

**Chapter 9**

Gherlen's Gates, Ferelden Side, Wintersend 9:31 (Night)

"Blessed Andraste on a spavined mule."

Fergus Cousland breathed the soft curse when he espied several templars and a Revered Mother exhorting a crowd of humans to storm the gates of Orzammar and bring the mages to justice. Alistair had told him what was known about the mess in the Circle… and the news his son was a mage. If Mara had sent Oren to Kinloch Hold, his son would have been one of those slaughtered children…

He gladly dismounted from the garron, cursing his long legs, and tied the mount to a market stall pole. His two surviving men, brothers Brynn and Hynn, climbed off the ox-cart he'd managed to salvage from Honnleath… alongside a most peculiar companion.

"There are so many of them. And they make almost as much noise as birds," Shale the golem observed as he/she/it stomped forward. "Can I kill a few? I'm sure they won't be missed."

"We'll see," Fergus said as his hand went to his sword-hilt. The last time a Cousland had stood on this side of Gherlen's Gates was when Bryce the Too-Lofty tried to besiege Orzammar in the Exalted Age and found himself facing a casteless mercenary captain who eventually became a Paragon. Since then, the teyrns of Highever had chosen to work through intermediaries out of respect for the dwarves.

Just up ahead, the great stone-and-steel doors of Orzammar opened up to reveal a lanky olive-skinned man in Warden-Scout leathers. "King Bhelen Aeducan, First of His Name, sent me ta kindly ask ya ta fuck off," he told the Revered Mother. "The mages, represented by First Enchanter Irvin', got themselves a treaty with the Assembly. So if ya don't hightail it back ta Orlais, he'll be returnin' yer heads ta the Empress."

"But… we are Fereldan!" protested one of the templars.

The Warden folded his arms. "Yeah? Well last I heard, Fereldans believed in freedom an' stickin' tagether an' every man choosin' his own master. We don't do slavery in Ferelden, so's why are we puttin' people in chains an' castles fer what they _might_ do? Pretty sure that's what Orlais did ta a lotta folks when Meghren ruled."

Fergus shoved his way through the crowd, silverite plate and broad shoulders making him a path as the brothers and Shale followed. That was Daveth on the doorstep and the heir to Highever was due a little chat with the thief.

"Mages are accursed by the Maker!" retorted the Revered Mother. "They can't be treated like ordinary people."

"I'm pretty sure that's what Orlesians say about Fereldans," Daveth countered.

_Clever little bastard, _Fergus thought almost admiringly. Daveth was using the legacies of the occupation to make his point. And the thief was right. Maybe he'd grown up in the two or so years since all this mess had started.

"Look, the Chantry's not very popular because the Orlesians are leading an Exalted March on the other side of the mountain," observed one of the surface dwarves, a blond beardless man in a long leather jacket. "You might want to rethink your presence on the doorstep to Orzammar."

"They… _what_?" Fergus roared. "Of all the fucking times…!"

The heir to Highever stalked right up to the Revered Mother, dark eyes blazing in fury. "My son is a mage and he would have been murdered because of your chickenshit templars if he'd been in the Circle. I know some mages are bad – but how many become maleficarum because they're pushed to it by the Chantry?"

"_Now_ will it let me squish someone? That flesh creature in the black and scarlet robe is like a bird: loud, colourful and annoying," Shale suggested.

"Fuck me, a talkin' golem," Daveth breathed in surprise.

"You know other types?" the stone warrior rumbled, turning glowing blue eyes onto the thief.

"Uh… We're makin' more. For the fight against the darkspawn," he replied nervously.

"Will they free-willed or controlled by rods?" the golem continued.

"They'll be free-willed now," the thief said fervently.

Shale stared at him as Fergus, even pissed off, found it in him to grin at the half-Chasind's discomfort. "I'll hold you to that, thief."

"How the fuck did ya know I was a thief? I ain't touched nothin' in no one's pocket fer months!"

"That would be me," Fergus told the Warden flatly. "You and I need to have a little talk about your behaviour involving my sister."

Daveth blinked, then grinned insolently. "Ya can thank me fer matchmakin' her an' that bastard Alistair later," he said cheekily. "But we need ta get these fuckers off our doorstep… an' the Orlesians off the back porch."

Fergus nodded tightly before looking at the stunned Revered Mother and the angry templars. "The Circle of Magi is out of your hands for the moment… So I'll give you a choice: submit to the authority of the Crown of Ferelden as represented by me, Fergus Cousland, and return yourselves to whatever Chantry you hailed from to prepare your congregation for a Blight… or make a run for the Orlesian border and be denounced as traitors. What will it be?"

"My loyalty is to Ferelden," the Revered Mother finally replied. "I will return to West Hills."  
"Mother, you cannot back down against these-" the Knight-Lieutenant began, only to be interrupted by the cleric.

"You bloody dragged me out of my Chantry to confront a group of dwarves over the sheltering of a few apostates when the darkspawn are murdering anything that lives in the South! The mages can be dealt with later; the horde can't wait."

"Wise decision," drawled the beardless blond dwarf as the Revered Mother stamped off in a huff. The templars followed her because they knew they'd be screwed in a fight with the Gate Guards of Orzammar.

"Huh, I'm beginnin' ta see why you Couslands are so respected," Daveth observed. "Well… Ya might as well come in. I'll bring ya up ta speed on what I know."

"I know everything to the point where Prince Alistair left the Urn of Sacred Ashes and sent me here on the way to Highever to give you an update," he replied softly.

"That sonuvabitch found it? Well fuck me sideways with an Antivan cactus," Daveth said with a grin. "Be good ta see this civil war mess sorted out an' a certain Teyrn's head on a platter with a certain Arl's nuts as a garnish."

Fergus grinned at the rogue. He might be a bit of a shit but he was clearly on the right page with everyone else. "Just so you know, when the Blight's over, I'm going to kick you in the nuts for your treatment of my sister," the heir to Highever said pleasantly.

Daveth winced, then shrugged. "Fair 'nough. If I survive, ya can kick me in the balls."

"Good. Now let's see what can be done about these sodding Orlesians."

…

Warden's Barracks, Diamond Quarter, 1st Pluitanis (Morning)

Trian Aeducan closed the topsider's eyes and commended him to his Ancestors before pulling a cloth embroidered with griffins over his face.

"I didn't know Riordan that well, only that he was a friend of Duncan and Brytta's," he told those gathered around the stone bier they'd laid the dying Orlesian Warden on. "I heard he was a good Warden though and Brosca…" He paused, actually feeling unshed tears burning in his eyes despite knowing the unsentimental Duster would have mocked him mercilessly for it. "…She said if humans had Paragons, he'd be the one of tenacity."

"I could well agree with that," Bhelen said grimly. The newly crowned King rubbed his broad nose and looked to another shroud-covered bier over which a veiled woman wept. "I intend to make her a Paragon."

"I'm not going to argue with that… But dammit, does Harrowmount need to die? You and I both know Sereda's hand was up his arse the whole time!"

"I know. But he's a figurehead. I can't leave him around for someone else to use," Bhelen responded. "I'll… leave his House alone. So long as they swear vassalage to House Aeducan."

It was going to be the best he could get from his brother. Trian nodded his acceptance. "With the free-willed golem thing going on, you can't allow Sereda to become one."

"Branka already told me she was unsuitable," Bhelen agreed. "The Shapers have… advised me on a suitable punishment for her interference in the Proving."

"I thought that d'Antiva killed her?"

"He did. Because Sereda promised him some sort of unspecified support for someone topside."

"Any idea who?" Daveth asked. The Warden had walked in with the big topsider known as Fergus by his side.

"No. But he killed all the Orlesian commanding Wardens, according to Riordan, because they were supporting the Exalted March." Trian muttered a curse. "Then killed Riordan for 'meddling'."

"He'll be off ta Denerim then since that's the only other big political mess happenin' at the moment," the thief said with a sigh. "Shit, an' we gotta get the elves' treaty done before we return ta the city fer the Landsmeet."

"I'll make straight for Highever, revive Father, and then bring him to Denerim," Fergus promised. "With the Teyrn of Highever in play, the Game will be in détente until the Landsmeet."

"Branka tells me she's got a couple golems ready to send with you," Bhelen told the cloudhead nobleman. "Your Prince Alistair, by our laws, is the legitimate Theirin heir and so we'll send him a gift of Free Golem service."

"What if, by some insane chance, Anora becomes Queen?" Fergus asked wryly.

"Then your Ancestors felt a change was in order," Bhelen responded coolly.

"Gettin' back ta the point, how's Sereda goin' ta die?" Daveth asked, his voice low and savage. Trian couldn't fault him; he and his commander may have had issues, but Brytta deserved a better death. And he owed Sereda for the attempted assassination plot in Aeducan Thaig.

Bhelen, apparently, had hoped to keep Sereda and Trian too busy fighting each other to notice him gathering influence to achieve the kingship. It had gone horribly right, Sereda trying to murder Trian whilst in search of the Aeducan Shield and leaving the Prince for dead, only to be rescued by Duncan and Brytta…

Rica, Bhelen's woman, turned from her sister's corpse and raised her veil. "Yes, tell us," the redhead agreed fervently.

Trian averted his gaze from the scarred ruin of a once-lovely face, legacy of a false accusation of adultery made by Sereda that led to Rica being dragged facedown through the streets of the Diamond Quarter. All because of a green silk gown and malachite jewellery that had been a gift from Brytta when she'd served in Orlais…

Bhelen's loyalty to her was astonishing; even though she'd been found innocent, he could have put her in a tiny cubicle far from his rooms and found another concubine. But he'd kept her in his rooms and his bed, eschewing any other company, and raising their son Endrin with her. If she was half the woman Brytta had been, he could understand why.

"Her name will be torn from her and she will be branded casteless. Then she will have her hands removed for befouling a smith's work; the skin flensed from her body and salt rubbed onto the bare flesh for insulting the Ancestors by her actions; and then her corpse will be thrown into lava to burn away her corruption," Bhelen decreed flatly.

Rica smiled – and it was a terrible sight. "Good," she said. Trian allowed himself to share the expression.

Daveth rubbed his stubbled chin. "Gonna cut her throat first?"

"…No. Why do you ask, Warden-Commander?" Trian was curious; he also noted Fergus Cousland looked slightly sick.

"'Cause when ya puttin' a mad bitch down, ya cut its throat, not torture it. Do that stuff ta Sereda while she's breathin' an' ya'll be no better'n her."

Bhelen swore softly at the Warden-Commander but didn't gainsay him. Rica launched into a quiet tirade of Duster curses that indicated the origin of some of Brytta's preferred choice words even as Trian grunted in agreement with the topsider. He was right, damn him.

"Fine!" the King finally said. "I'll kill her first. Only because I owe you."

"Good." Daveth nodded shortly. "Fergus, ya better get goin'. I should be headin' out fer the Brecilian in a couple days once the Orlesians are dealt with."

The nobleman raised an eyebrow. "You're going to be rid of the Orlesians in two days? You'd need at least a thousand men-"

"Or ten golems, each one worth a hundred dwarven soldiers," Daveth replied flatly. "Eleven, if we count Commander Shale."

"We have… ten golems… already?" Bhelen asked, astonished.

"The _Wardens_ have ten golems, Bhelen. By the laws of Paragon Arrek First-Warden, we have claimed the Anvil of the Void fer our own as an essential weapon in the fight against the darkspawn," Daveth countered with a smirk.

"You nug-loving, lyrium-sniffing-" Bhelen's language descended into utter vileness from that point as Trian, despite the grief of the past few weeks, burst into laughter as he realised how neatly outmanoeuvred Bhelen was by the thief.

Bhelen was the best King for Orzammar and Trian was smart enough to know it… But damned if it wasn't good to see his scheming little brother put in his place!

"I guess you were right about finding lyrium nuggets in nugshit," he murmured to Brytta's pale corpse once he'd finished laughing and Bhelen had stormed off in a huff, followed by Rica.

"She'll be avenged," Daveth promised grimly. "I'll see d'Antiva's head on a platter fer this."

Trian nodded with a grim smile. "Thank you… Warden-Commander."

"Ya're welcome… Warden-Commander."


	10. Chapter 10

Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. This will be the last chapter of Kings and Griffins as I need to focus on getting Queens and Hounds done by the end of February when I start uni.

I know for game purposes Shale was no tougher than any other companion, but in Game of Princes the golems truly are the nigh-unstoppable killing machines they are described as.

…

**Chapter 10**

Gherlen's Gates (Orlesian Side), 2nd Pluitanis 9:31 (Daytime)

Oghren had seen and performed his fair share of violence over the years, but even the biggest battle against the darkspawn or a riot-quelling action in Dust Town was nothing compared to the carnage unleashed by the Warden-Golems in the narrow valley of the western Gherlen's Gates. The Orlesian besiegers, mostly templars and a small detachment of Imperial Chevaliers, were helpless, caught between rock and steel, as Shale led her ten golem buddies in a brutal attack that turned the Stone red as blood.

"Maker's wrinkled nutsack," the Warden-Commander Daveth breathed. The thief was ashen beneath his olive skin but he stared at the massacre he'd ordered unflinchingly. Oghren had to respect that about him. Once Daveth stuck to a course of action, he stuck with it for good or for ill and took all consequences resulting from it.

"At least Shale's having a ball," Oghren suggested, trying to be helpful.

"Every bloody Warden-Commander's goin' ta want a dozen of them," the kid (he wasn't even twenty-five yet, minimum command age in Orzammar) muttered. "But what if a prick like Thierry duPond or Rennio d'Antiva gets a hold of some?"

"Golems can think for themselves," Oghren reassured him. "D' you really see someone like Nadezda fighting anything other than darkspawn unless she had a personal stake?"

Daveth winced at the mention of the crippled Duster beggar who'd volunteered to become a golem to escape both her broken body and to fight the darkspawn like Brytta Brosca had. Seemed she'd run with the late Warden-Commander back when they were both Carta thugs…

"I keep on imaginin' Duncan just lookin' at me with them disappointed eyes," the thief finally admitted. "He did what he hadda… but is this really worth it? What he be fer it or against?"

"The Chantry and the Grey Wardens would have gone to war eventually," Trian Aeducan said, speaking for the first time. "But with the backing of the dwarves, control of the golems, and the elite military skills you have, the Grey will prevail."

"Lots of our people are Andrastian an' even faithful ones," Daveth pointed out. "We might fight amongst ourselves."

"Perhaps," Trian agreed. "But our current First Warden has been carefully recruiting commanders who aren't Andrastian… or at least not really religious. The sort who might push for greater official Warden intervention in the diplomatic sphere."

The Prince and now Warden-Commander raked a hand through short blond hair. "For centuries the Grey Wardens have been acting as unofficial peacekeepers and diplomatic escorts. Our current First Warden has decided it's time we made it official."

"Which would directly challenge the fuckin' Chantry 'cause they see themselves as Thedas' central authority," Daveth observed flatly.

"Yes. Your actions at the Circle were the spark. Not that I'm disagreeing with you… But I think the Chantry's wanted an excuse to attack the Wardens and bring them totally under their rule for a while."

"Well, if they want war," Ser Jory, hitherto silent, said slowly, "they're going to get it."

Oghren looked down at the killing down below. "Hey, what does a white flag mean?" he asked.

"They want to stop fighting," Jory explained. Then he yelled, "GOLEMS, STOP! They want to surrender!"

"What if this is some kinda trick?" Daveth asked.

Jory's smile was grim. "Then Shale gets to amuse herself some more."

The golems disengaged and then converged around a bloodied figure in ornate Chevalier's armour desperately waving a grungy white cape. Thus escorted, the knight was brought up to the gates, removing the fancy plumed helmet to reveal a freckled, square-jawed woman with red hair confined by a leather headband. "Ser Aveline Vallen, Chevalier of the Imperial Guard," she said shortly, her Orlesian accent very light, overlaid by a strong Fereldan one. "We cry surrender. Please…"

"Hand over your weapons an' we'll send medics down under golem guard," Daveth ordered quietly. "Beyond that, what happens ta ya is the dwarves' business."

"Fair enough," Ser Aveline agreed. The knight looked troubled. "I… apologise it took so long for us to surrender. I had to wait for all of my superiors to die before I could cry mercy."

"You idiots besieged us in the first place," Oghren pointed out. "A lot more people would be alive if they hadn't."

Aveline's lips thinned. "I know. The Empress only sent us to aid the templars as a sop to the Chantry because she needs their support."

"For the upcomin' invasion of Ferelden, we know," Daveth said shortly. "…Trian?"

"Yes?"

"Ya reckon yer brother would mind us sendin' Ser Aveline an' friends back with a message that if the Empress invades Ferelden durin' a Blight, the Wardens'll send a thousand golems to wreck her shit, take her crown, an' give it ta Mara an' Alistair as a weddin' present?"

The Prince grinned viciously. "Only if they'll do the same if the Chantry tries to invade dwarven lands again."

"But of course. Ya've always been our greatest allies." Daveth gave a feral smile, dark eyes glittering. "An' tell the Divine to back the fuck off from the Wardens while ya're at it. Because if she's actually dumb enough to try and attack our Order directly, we'll send golems into every Circle, free the mages, an' let 'em loose on yas."

Aveline looked vaguely sick. "You'd… unleash chaos on Thedas… for what?"

It was Jory who spoke, voice low and intense. "For every child ripped, screaming in fear, from their parents or sent weeping in chains after being called evil. For every hedge mage, no matter how well-intentioned, cut down by a templar's sword. For every person converted through sword and fear instead of willingness."

Aveline met the knight's eyes squarely. "If not for the Chantry, we'd be all slaves of the Tevinter Imperium or the Qunari by now!"

"We'll be sendin' similar warnin's ta them," Daveth assured her. "Let it be known, here an' now, that the Grey Wardens are goin' ta be actin' as neutral peacekeepers an' diplomatic escorts. We been doin' it unofficially fer years, so now we're goin' ta make it official. Before ya Chantry lot get pissy, I'd like ta remind ya that the Qunari, the Dalish an' the dwarves don't like ya too much, whereas at least they'll speak ta us."

Oghren had to hand it to the thief; he had balls of dragonbone making a statement like that. If the Wardens didn't make him First Warden after the Blight, they were lyrium-snorting morons.

Aveline nodded stiffly. "I will deliver your message to both Empress and Divine," she said. "Once my people are capable of travel."

"Take those who can ride now," Trian ordered. "We'll keep the wounded here as hostages for your good behaviour."

The knight looked ready to argue, but instead she simply jerked a nod before turning around to bellow orders at the survivors. Oghren watched her leave, shaking his head; the woman should have been Warrior Caste. Pity she was stuck with such a crappy life as a human warrior…

"I'll be headin' out tomorrow," Daveth told Trian once Aveline was gone. "I'll be takin' Shale an' Nadezda with me."

"If you can't solve a civil war with two golems, you Wardens will be screwed," Oghren observed with a smirk.

"I'll be blunt. Alistair an' Mara have been aware of the darkspawn threat from the beginnin' – one of the reasons why she went with me instead'a ta her folks an' start a feud – an' Loghain left us ta die. So's his daughter ain't goin' ta be Queen."

"What happens topside, so long as it doesn't affect Orzammar, isn't my concern," Trian replied.

"Even better." Daveth cocked his ear; moments later, the biggest dog Oghren had ever seen showed up out of the darkness, a scroll tied to its collar. "Hello, Fluffy. Had a good trip?"

The brown dog, painted in darker brown swirls, whined pitifully at his owner.

"Alright, I'll give ya a full roasted nug," Daveth sighed, kneeling to get the scroll. He remained on his knees as he unrolled it, lips moving silently as he read it out… Amd then he grinned.

"One down, one ta go," was all the Warden-Commander said as he rose to his feet. "An' we can head straight ta Denerim."

But he didn't elaborate on the comment, though Jory gave a satisfied nod as if he understood. "I'll ready Helena and Duncan for the trip," the Warden-Second said.

"Yeah… No point in not havin' her along an' if we're careful, kid oughta be fine," Daveth agreed. "But first, I got some good news ta give a coupla folks…"

He walked away with barely a nod to either Oghren or Trian.

"Want a drink?" the warrior asked the Prince.

"For what reason?"

"Something died today, Your Highness. I don't know what, but things are never going to be the same again."

"…A good reason to drink. Let's go."

And so a Warden and a warrior drank to the passing of the old and the beginning of the new. If they'd known what the future would bring, they probably would have had a few drinks more to cope.

…

The Fields of Grey

_He would know that scent anywhere. Dust and iron and clean sweat with a hint of sweet fruity Valenta Red._

_ She still looked the same, only minus the scars of battle and that broken nose, but her green eyes were keen and sharp; the eyes of a Commander of the Grey._

_ Unsurprisingly she was talking to her friend Leske, whose unflinching courage in the face of the Joining had earned him a place on the Wall of Memories and amongst the Wardens in the Fields of Grey. He wasn't surprised to also see them sharing a flask._

_ "May I join you?" he asked quietly. They'd parted in bitterness and anger because she'd chosen ambition over him. But reflection after his death had made Duncan see that he'd been unfair to her, cutting off his nose to spite his face by forcing her to choose between love and a chance to help her people._

_ "Always room for you at the table," Brytta responded, giving that sweet smile which drove him crazy once._

_ "Thank you… By the Maker and His djinn, I was a fool," Duncan confessed._

_ "No more than I," Brytta countered. "Now sit down, shut up, and let me tell about what you've missed…"_

_ With a heart lighter than he'd ever had in life, Duncan obeyed, and finally felt complete._


End file.
